I Can't Stop
by Bravada
Summary: Cartman always gets what he wants. But this time...this time somebody else has gotten their hands on what should be his. Style and one-sided Kyman.
1. Day 'N Nite

**So I really needed something to distract me from school. I've grown a bit tired of my fandom of choice, WWE, so I've decided to tread into some new territory. This is my attempt at a South Park fic...hopefully it all goes well. I plan on writing this from multiple POV's, though, looking ahead I think it'll mostly come from Stan and Cartman's POVs. Please review!**

* * *

><p><em>(Kenny)<em>

_(I try to run but see I'm not that fast_

_I think I'm first but surely finish last, last)_

I was in Stan's room.

We went up there for…fuck, I don't remember. Was that a sign that I'd drank too much? We walked upstairs to Stan's room—away from the drunken mass of people—and by the time we made it to our destination I couldn't even remember what we'd come up there for. I'd had…six drinks, seven? No…wait, I'd done my eighth shot with Bebe and Token. So at least eight. Fuck, I don't remember. I always start to lose count when everyone starts asking me to do shots. I'm always in such a good mood when I drink that I start raising my shot glass to everything imaginable. I think with Bebe and Token we were celebrating her cat's second birthday…or some stupid shit like that. I didn't care, I just wanted a damn reason to toss some tequila down my throat. Besides, her fucking cat turned two like six months ago. I remember because she used it as an excuse to bake brownies and bring them to school to use as leverage to gain her some—pardon the pun—brownie points with all the football players. And if I remember right, she was extremely successful…that slut was an airhead, but she could fucking cook. I remember the gooey chocolate chips stuffed in thick, chocolately, cakey goodness… To someone who was used to having to scrounge for food and mooch off of friends for dinner, the unexpected dessert was a real damn treat…

Wait. Why the fuck am I thinking about brownies that Bebe had cooked at the end of my junior year? That's another sign I've been drinking too much: my mind's wandering to places that don't fucking matter. Either way, the floor was bubbling beneath my feet, and Stan had sunk down onto his bed, jean-clad ass hitting his blue comforter silently. He looked up at me—damn, that boy had some blue eyes, the same exact shade of blue as the sky right after a storm when it was _finally_ starting to clear up. Kind of angry, kind of reassuring…here I go again. Thinking about too much shit that doesn't mean anything…I must be going soft if I'm standing here rambling on about the color of Stan's eyes. He was about to say something—I could tell from the way his lips parted, the way his eyes narrowed in focus.

Whatever it was he was about to say, he didn't get a chance.

The door to his room burst open, and there was a flash of red hair as someone came stumbling in. Stan had this look of surprise on his face, as if someone had told him that the sky was going to be green from now on, and I think I did too, even though it was completely unwarranted. There were only two other people in existence who would have the audacity to just barge into the party host's room like that…and, judging from the lean frame and vibrant, red shock of hair…it certainly wasn't the fatass who had interrupted us.

"Kyle?" Stan shot up, standing up so fast he caused my body to spasm in reaction. I reeled backwards, my booze-addled brain barely able to process the speed at which he reacted to Broflovski's presence. The redhead slammed the wooden door behind himself and stumbled forward, feet dragging against the carpet like he couldn't remember that he actually had to lift them up to walk.

"S-Stan…" Kyle's voice was slurred—huh, seemed Kosher boy had gotten ahead of me tonight…wait. No. That wasn't it…

"Kyle!" Stan rushed forward as the redhead began to fall forward, catching the smaller teen by the shoulders.

It's surprising how fast something serious can yank me out of a drunken stupor. Ninety seconds ago I was dreaming about brownies I ate _six months ago_, now, something was very wrong, and just the sight of it alone was enough to grip me by the ankles and yank me off the moon back down to Earth. I jumped forward, reaching out with my hands. My fingers were clumsy as I grabbed Kyle by the front of his navy blue shirt, but that was alright. It didn't take much fine motor skill to help Stan maneuver our friend onto the bed, helping Kyle to sit down on the exact same spot where Stan had been just moments earlier. I stepped back after that, holding out my hands with my palms outward to prove to Stan that I wasn't touching something I shouldn't be. Stan has this annoying habit of freaking the fuck out when Kyle's in trouble, and the thing is, he likes to take care of Kyle himself. If someone else tried to interfere—tried to insert their self between the two super best friends—then Stan would raise his hackles like a territorial dog.

"Kyle? Kyle—what the fuck?" Stan knelt down in front of the redhead, one hand reaching out and resting on the end of Kyle's knee.

Huh.

I was drunk, but…no. They did this kind of stuff all the time.

"Kyle? Come on…look at me!" Stan's voice raised into a frustrated growl. Wow, he was getting really bothered by all this—

Kyle finally complied, lifting his jaw up in angry defiance.

I couldn't help but cringe. Not at the large, darkening bruise on the edge of Kyle's jaw, not at the pure rage that burned like green fire in his eyes, and not even at the tiny bit of dried blood in the corner of his mouth. No, I cringed and felt my stomach tumble because as soon as I saw the state Kyle's face was in…I knew the fucking party was over.

To put it simply, Stan was going to throw a bitch fit.

A small part of me grinned in pure sadistic joy as I thought about the hell the Marsh kid was going to unleash very soon. Oh boy…someone had foolishly decided to put a mark on Kyle Broflovski… I swear to fucking god, did anybody in our school have any fucking brains? Or were all the high school students downstairs really so damn drunk that they forgot just what happened if someone decided to fuck with Kyle? Yeah, he was my friend, and I'd sure as fuck back him up in any fight against anybody—no matter what the circumstances. But that was nothing compared to what Stan would do… Stan would personally hunt down whoever did it and make it very clear to them why nobody in this shit town would dare to hurt Kyle Broflovski. Let's just say Stan is our school quarterback, and in the past few years he's gotten muscles. Big muscles. Muscles that just scream 'I'll punch you in the face and laugh when you cry and try to pick up your teeth off the ground'.

Yeah…that kind of muscles.

"What the fuck happened dude?" Stan was gritting his teeth, the question coming out as more of a snarl then anything.

"You make a move on the wrong guy's girl?" I asked, arching an eyebrow as I looked down at my friend.

Kyle merely clenched his teeth together, the muscles in his jaws bulging as he fumed.

"Oh…wrong guy's guy, then?" I asked again, leaning back and crossing my arms in front of my chest.

"Kenny! This isn't the time to be making fucking jokes!" Stan snapped, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye.

Yeah, so Stan's sapphire eyes aren't nearly as appealing when he's staring at me like I've pissed in his cereal…

But Kyle cracked a small smile. Or at least, the corners of his lips curled up in a kind of pseudo-half smile. Ha, that's a score for me. I took only a small moment to revel in my tiny victory, but that was a mistake. Stan noticed Kyle's little grin and scowled deeply, turning back to stare directly at his super best friend. Oh yeah, he was not going to let this one go…

"What the hell happened to you?" Stan demanded again, his impatience obvious.

Kyle huffed in frustration, eyes lowering to the floor.

"Come on Kyle…" Stan's voice took on that low, pleading tone that he only used on Kyle. I don't think anyone else on the planet has ever gotten Stan to use that voice on them. The most I ever got out of him was a sigh of pity, maybe some sadness and sympathy…but never pleading.

Maybe Kyle realized that too, because his stony look softened.

"It was Cartman." The redhead finally grumbled, still refusing to look up at either one of us.

Stan was naive enough to look surprised. He was cool guy, definitely one of my best friends, definitely a nice piece to look at, but holy shit, I swear to god he could be dumb as fuck sometimes. Then again, maybe I was dumb too…after all, both of us should've known better then to leave Cartman and Kyle alone and within twenty feet of each other. That was like putting…well, a Nazi and a Jew together.

"What happened? Why'd he do this?" Stan shook his head in disgust.

Was Stan really this dumb? Or was he just being polite and allowing Kyle to explain things instead of being an ass and making assumptions? I'd really like to think he was being tactful…but let's face it. Stan's got big muscles, but his brain? Sometimes a tad bit lacking. _Especially_ when it comes to Kyle. Now, I'm no genius. I'll be the first one to admit that if you put a math textbook in front of me it'll all look like Japanese, but Stan's just kind of an idiot when it comes to people. He always only ever sees the best in everyone…how he manages to do that in South Park, I have no fucking idea. Not to mention I saw Stan down like seven shots of tequila…and that's all I _saw_. Who knows how many he did when I wasn't looking… He is the star quarterback after all, and he has a bit of a reputation to live up to. Plus everyone on the planet would want to do shots with him to celebrate our win against North Park last week. Either way, my guess was that Stan was probably feeling as toasted as I did, and that only meant that the inevitable explosion I was about to witness was only going to be that much more destructive.

Oh yeah…this was going to be _entertaining_, in the very least.

"What happened?" Stan repeated.

His hand was still on Kyle's knee.

"Come on Kyle…you know you can tell me anything." Marsh went on.

There was that pleading voice again.

"Kyle, I can't fix things if you don't tell me what's wrong." Stan moved his hand up from Kyle's knee to his shoulder.

Fuck did they even know I was here?

"Kyle…come on dude." Stan reached up, running a hand through his black hair, "What did you say to Cartman?"

Oh…wrong choice of words, Marsh.

Kyle face immediately reddened, and those green eyes of his shot up, narrowing dangerously.

"You think this is _my_ fault?" The redhead hissed, leaning away from Stan's touch, "You know what that fat fuck is like! He's a fucking psycho!"

Stan chose to remain silent, but he raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"I…I might've…" Kyle bowed his head, face reddening even more as he mumbled, "I might've called his mom a money grubbing whore who…who would suck off any herpes-infested dick she could find just for grocery money."

Touché, Stan. I suppose there is no one who knows Kyle better than his super best friend. And maybe Marsh was smarter then I gave him credit for… See, I'm the exact opposite of Stan: I always think the worst of everyone.

"Did you really think that was a good idea?" I rolled my eyes, but was unable to stop myself from smiling. Just picturing Kyle saying those words to the Nazi was enough to make me want to laugh out loud. Damn, whatever me and Stan had come up here for, it better have been important…I would've _loved_ to see the look on Cartman's face when Kyle talked about his mom. Sure, his mom was a nice lady, but all of us—and definitely Kyle—were willing to say whatever it took to piss off the fatass. Besides, it's not like that asshole would've held back with us. Let's just say I've been called 'poor boy' far too many times to have any sympathy for that bastard.

"He hit me first…" Kyle grumbled, crossing his arms against his chest and pouting unhappily.

"Of course he did." Stan growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, "Are you ok? How do you feel? It looks like he got you pretty good."

The redhead's face turned pink with embarrassment and he turned away, eyes once again finding something very interesting on the floor.

"Kyle…" Stan reached forward, the fingertips of his left hand lightly gripping Kyle by his jaw, turning his head so that his green eyes met Stan's set of blues.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I…" Kyle sighed, but made no move to pull away from Stan's touch, "My head kind of hurts. I…I think I drank too much…"

Stan's lips pressed together like he'd just seen something despicable, and I could see that he was trying very hard not to tighten his hold on Kyle's jaw.

I hate it when Stan and Kyle have these intimate moments.

I'm not jealous. I swear to fucking god, I'm not jealous. It's just that when they do…_shit_ like this… Shit like staring at each other too long, touching each other when it's completely unnecessary, communicating to each other without even saying a word… It doesn't make me jealous. I swear it doesn't. It just makes me think…it reminds me that I don't mean as much to _anyone in the world_, as those do to each other. Not even my mom and dad are as close as Stan and Kyle. Ok, so those idiot drunks aren't exactly the best comparison, but still. I hate remembering that I don't have that closeness with anyone. And of course, Stan and Kyle have to go and remind me of all that shit.

"You should lay down." Stan leaned away from Kyle, standing up straight.

"I'm f-fine." Kyle protested, glaring up at Stan, but his words were slurred, his lips moving clumsily to form his words.

"Come on Kyle." Stan turned, those sharp blue eyes narrowing as he looked at me, "He doesn't look good, right Kenny?"

I knew what I was supposed to say, but I hesitated anyway, if only to prove to Stan that I wasn't going to baby Kyle like he wanted to. Also to prove that he couldn't just expect me to help manipulate the redhead. But in truth, Kyle did look pretty rough. His normally bright, emerald eyes had dulled to a sea foam green, with the whites an irritated, tired pink. The bruise on his jaw was already a dark purple; the thing would be black by tomorrow. Now, I was never one to try and control people. I've always been the type to let people do whatever they wanted, even if that meant they were going to hurt themselves. But Kyle…he always gave off this sort of vulnerability that made people—people like Stan and Wendy…and me—always want to protect him. He was the biggest magnet to trouble at our school, aside from me of course, and that only made things worse. So even though I hate to see Stan treat Kyle like he's made of glass, the kid did look a little rough.

"Stan's right." I nodded, shooting Kyle an apologetic look, "You should turn it in for the night."

Kyle glared at me, betrayal in his eyes, but he nodded in agreement anyway. It was probably for the best. As much as I love drinking with Kyle—because god, he's a way better drinker then Stan or Cartman—he was definitely looking like he was done for the night. Looks like the party really was over. Stan and I each grabbed Kyle by his shoulders, tilting him back. Stan reached out and grabbed the edge of the comforter, yanking it back to reveal plain, pale sheets. Kyle kicked off his shoes with some difficulty, falling onto his back in the process. Stan knelt down and slowly, almost tenderly, peeled off his other shoe and then casting it to the side. It's funny, none of us even questioned the idea that Kyle was staying the night with Stan. It was even mentioned. I mean, it hadn't crossed my mind that he might want to go home…he slept at the Marsh's at least three times a week anyway. And knowing Kyle's mom, she'd probably ask to smell his breath if he tried to go home. Fingers gripping the hem of his navy shirt, Kyle pulled his cotton, long sleeve shirt over his head, leaving his deep, red hair sticking up in several directions. Stan took this opportunity to reach forward and move his fingers across Kyle's belt buckle, nimbly working the metal clasp. Neither one of them even batted an eyelash when Stan pulled Kyle's jeans down, the dark wash fabric sliding off of Kyle's jutting hips easily.

Honestly, watching Stan yank off Kyle's pants was kind of hot. Stan's a pretty good looking boy…but its Kyle who's downright tasty. I couldn't help but allow my gaze to linger on the redhead's abdominal muscles as he lay on Stan's bed in nothing but his dark green boxers. Yeah…_nobody_ saw that six-pack coming. Kosher boy used to be rail thin, and then our freshman year he joined the swim team at the high school. Three years and four state championships later, Kyle had some meat on his bones. And I mean that in the most _delicious_ way possible. He didn't have those bulky, weight-lifting muscles like Stan or Cartman, but lean, ropey muscles like true athlete. And of course that fucking awesome six-pack… He was still on the smaller side though. Cartman and Stan were both several inches taller than him, and I think I had him by a solid two inches, even if he had more weight on him then I did. Years and years of barely getting by by eating poptarts for dinner had left me definitely on the thinner side.

"Alright Kenny, you can stop staring at Kyle like you want to eat him." Stan rolled his eyes as he jerked the blankets over Kyle nearly bare body. Kyle was humble enough to blush brightly before snuggling into the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

"Sorry." I grinned, placing my hands on my hips, "Just appreciating the view."

"Yeah, yeah." Stan shook his head.

"Don't pretend like you weren't thinking about licking whipped cream off his rockin' abs." Now it was my turn to roll my eyes as I spoke, my lips curling into a grin as I saw Kyle turn the color of a tomato.

"Is fucking all you think about?" Stan asked dryly, turning to look directly at me.

"You guys are stupid…" Kyle slurred, rolling over and onto his stomach as he buried his face into Stan's pillow.

"No, we're drunk." I corrected him before stumbling backwards, heading toward the door.

"And we should go be drunk somewhere else." Stan placed a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the door, "I'll be back up to go to sleep soon."

"Don't take too long…" Kyle rolled onto his side, facing away from us, "If you wake me out of a dead sleep…I'll…I'll punch you or something…"

"Right. I'll keep that in mind." Stan gave Kyle a soft smile—something else he reserved solely for Broflovsi—before walking us both out the door. The music thumping downstairs was so loud it was practically shaking the walls, causing the door to Stan's room to rattle in its frame. I reached up, pulling my orange hood overhead as I stared at Stan.

"So what's the plan now?" I asked, tilting my head to the side as I studied the brunette standing in front of me.

"The plan is we're going to go have a talk with the fatass." Stan grumbled, pushing past me and heading to the stairs.

"You know that's not going to fix anything." I replied tersely, not even bothering to turn around to face my friend. I knew he could hear me.

"So?" Stan froze in place at the top of the stairs, "I can't just let him get away with this. If he thinks he can just knock Kyle around whenever he wants then he's…he's going to—"

"To what?" I shook my head in exasperation, still not bothering to face him, "To do it more? How long have you known those two Stan? You know nothing you say is going to change anything."

"Why do you care?" Stan whirled around, scowling deeply as he stared at my back so hard I could feel it, "I thought you _liked_ watching us all fight? Why do you care if I go put my fist in that dick head's mouth?"

I stiffened, feeling the muscles in my arms, back, and legs tighten.

Is that what he thought of me?

"You're right Stan." I said slowly, still standing with my back to him, "I don't care. Do whatever you want."

"Cartman…Cartman fucking deserves it." Marsh mumbled, turning around.

I don't know who he was trying to convince. I certainly know Cartman's the biggest asshole on the planet. But, according to Stan, I just don't care about anything. Nice to know that's what people think of me.

Stan hesitated, acting like he was going to say something, but suddenly all I could hear was the thumping bass of rap music that always seems to pervade these house parties. He'd gone down the stairs…off to avenge his super best friend. Or some stupid shit like that. Whatever. He's right, I don't give a fuck what he does. Cartman's a bitch and deserves whatever the hell Stan wanted to him. Still…it would've been a hell of a lot nicer of Stan to actually put some worth in my opinion instead of just casting it aside like—

"Kenny?"

I turned around. At the top of the stairs was Red, stumbling up the steps like a drunken idiot. She was wearing a tight, sparkly green top that was cut so low I could see the roundness of her tits. The shiny black skirt she wore with it was short enough to make her legs look long and lean, and I couldn't help but stare as her hips swayed back and forth. She was walking towards me, I realized as her full lips parted in a bright smile. She was so close I could see her long, black eyelashes fluttering over blue eyes. Nice eyes, far nicer then the B-cups she was trying so hard to thrust into my face. Stupid girl. Her eyes were such a pretty shade of robin's egg blue…why the fuck did she feel the need to puff out her tits when her eyes were so nice to look at?

"I saw Stan come from up here and I figured this was where you disappeared to." Red giggled cutely, flipping a piece of her red hair.

"Yeah we were just…talking." I shoved my hands into my jean pockets to stop from reaching out and tucking that red piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'm so drunk!" She laughed as she tried to stand up straighter, one of the straps from her top sliding off her smooth shoulder, "Tequila always fucks me up so much."

Yeah girl, whatever you say. Whatever you need to tell yourself.

"Are you here alone?" She asked.

"Yeah." I gave her my best grin, one that was half smile and half smirk, "But that could change."

"Are you looking for some company?" Red's smile grew wider. Silly girl thought she was being smooth.

"Only good company." I replied, pulling my hands out of my pockets.

"Well," She stepped forward, placing a small hand on my chest, her pale skin bright against the orange of my jacket, "Trust me…I'm the _best_ company you could find."

"You're sounding pretty cocky." I flashed her an even wider smile, leaning into her touch, "You sure you can back that up?"

"Let me prove it to you." She leaned forward, pressing her lips to mine. She was a nice kisser, her lips moving urgently against my own, her tongue flicking out and caressing my own. She wasn't the prettiest girl I knew, wasn't really all that smart…but she wanted me. Her hand on my chest gripped my shirt, and then she pulled me forward, pressing her body against my own. I could feel her soft breasts pushed up against me, her hips crushing against my own, and then I was reaching up, gripping her head with both my hands and holding her in place as I shoved my tongue into her mouth. She gasped in surprise at my sudden ferocity, and I took that moment to reach around, placing my hand on her round ass. She smiled as I squeezed, tilting her head to the side so that her mouth was moving against my ear.

"My car's parked out front…" She hissed, breath hot and tingly on my ear.

I didn't give a shit about this girl.

But she wanted me. And that was more then I could say for anyone else.


	2. This Fire

_(Cartman)_

_(I will not be denied this final hour_

_I will not be denied, this day is mine)_

I was standing at the kitchen counter when Stan found me.

Clyde was to my left and Token to my right. Bebe was in front of us, and the two of them were competing for her attention. I normally hate seeing a man bend over for a fucking girl, but watching the rich boy and the dimwit stumble over each other in attempt to woo some vagina was somewhat entertaining. Somewhat. God, this fucking party was dumb as shit. First of all, the shit rap music they were playing was so fucking loud and terrible it was burning my god damn ears. The thump of the bass was practically making my damn bones vibrate. Second, all the mother fucking girls drank all the booze. Girls are the dumbest fucking creatures on the planet. They show up to this party, dressed like hookers on the street who were just waiting for some john to come along and teach them how to put their feet behind their ears. Then they grab all the alcohol they can get their manicured claws on, and less than a damn hour into the party ones fucking puking in a bush outside, another's kneeling on the bathroom tile crying over a guy who dumped her two years ago, and a third's already thrown two bottles against a wall in the living room because she found out her boyfriend went to another party across town. Mother fucking bitches _cannot_ handle their alcohol…not the least fucking bit.

Fucking cunts.

Then, to make matters even worse, Stan comes downstairs looking ready to break someone's arm in half. He scanned the living room quickly, those beady blue eyes of his circling the area like a fucking pig cop trying to sniff out a con. I knew exactly what he had come downstairs for, but I made no move to announce my presence. I simply raised my glass and tilted it back, keeping my dark eyes focused on the football star. I was drinking vodka mixed with some kind of fruit punch, and it burned like acid as it sloshed down my throat. I didn't even flinch as I emptied the glass, slamming it down onto the countertop as I finished. Fucking Marsh was still stalking around like a dog who'd gotten his bone stolen from him. Little bitch. I wished he'd hurry up and fucking see me so we could get this shit started. What can I say…seeing how angry he was, the way his eyes were narrowed, the way he was practically snarling, his teeth bared like some pissed off tiger…it gave me a rush. I knew he was looking for me, knew he was looking for a fight…and what can I say? I love a good fucking fight. I thrive off of conflict, live off of it, use it to sustain me like food. Life was fucking boring, and a good fight with some self-righteous, punk ass football star would at least be a little entertaining. Fun, even. Oh yeah, fucking around with Stan could be really fucking fun.

Almost as fun as fucking around with Kyle. Almost. Kyle…he was so different from everyone else. I could make girls cry with only a few sentences, could convince a boy to kill his mother with just a few soft words…but Kyle was different. Of all the fuckers in this town…the little Jew runt seemed to be the only one who could resist my words. And that was…intriguing, to say the least. He was one of the very few who called me out, who could actually sense my manipulations… Stan had gotten better at it in the past few years, but I could still wind him up and watch him spin like a top when I really wanted to. He was a simpleton; easy to figure out, easy to control. I only kept my hands off of Kenny because he usually didn't have anything that was worth my effort…but every once in a while I enjoyed making that poor boy squirm. He was almost just as easy to read as Stan.

But that still left Kyle.

No matter how skilled I was, I could never conjure up the words to convince him. He doubted every word that came out of my mouth. If I told him that the sun was made of fire, he would jump to his feet screaming that it must be made of ice. When we were younger it was…endearing, almost invigorating. But now it was like a challenge. One that I still _couldn't fucking beat_. To this day that little fucker was the only person in South Park who had never fallen under my control…and I swear to god, I was going to fucking change that. I swear to god, I'll figure him out one day, and I'll find out exactly how to warp him like I have every other idiot in this town.

I wasn't about to let fucking Kyle Broflovski beat me.

And the fact that he treated my voice like the voice of Satan himself…

Well, he could think what he wanted about me. I don't fucking care what he thinks about me.

I swear…I swear I don't care.

I could feel my heart's pace pick up as Stan finally turned towards the kitchen, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw me leaning against the counter. As soon as his eyes connected with mine his fists clenched, and then he was storming towards me. A lot of people would be intimidated at the sight of the raven haired boy stomping towards them. I suppose it was somewhat understandable; the little Marsh boy had grown into quite the athlete, and he had the biceps to show for it. But if there was one person in the whole fucking town of South Park who wasn't fucking scared of Stan Marsh…it was me. I'm not a fucking bitch coward for one thing, and for another…I'm even fucking bigger than he is. And that's not bragging, that's mother fucking fact.

I could choke that bitch out if I really fucking wanted to.

"Hey fatass!" Stan snarled as he drew nearer, "What the fuck is your problem?"

I narrowed my eyes, remaining deadly still.

"Whoa Stan," Token took a step forward, placing himself in between Marsh and I, "What's the issue?"

"Back the fuck off Token!" Stan growled, turning on his friend, "Cartman and Kyle got into a fight!"

"Ok…" Token held up his hands palms outward in a peaceful gesture, "That's…you know, not really anything new…"

"No!" Stan glared at me with such hatred that I was almost impressed, "That fucker took it too far! He split Kyle's lip and left a huge bruise on his face?"

I couldn't hold back my smirk as I crossed my thick arms against my chest.

"Not _my_ fault if the little Jew rat can't fight." I snickered, "Maybe he shouldn't go picking fights he can't handle."

"He told me you hit him first!" Stan went on, slashing his hand in the air for emphasis.

"Well who are you going to believe Stan?" My voice was sickly sweet and innocent as I spoke, "Me…or your dirty little Jew slut—_argh!_"

I cried out in pain as Stan's fist shot out, connecting with the corner of my jaw. I stumbled to the side, losing my balance against the counter as I reached up, touching the already swelling bump on the side of my chin. That fucking prick! Who the fuck did he think he was, hitting me like that? That mother fucker…he completely blindsided me…

"What the fuck Stan?" Bebe shrieked, her curly golden hair flying around as she jumped backwards, holding up her hands in defense.

"What's wrong Cartman?" Stan's voice had dropped real low, "Not such a big man now that you're facing someone your own size."

"Fuck you Stan!" I hissed, leaning forward, "Figures your little bitch would go running to you as soon as someone put him in his place! Why don't you tell that fucking pussy to come face me himself so we can fucking finish this shit?"

"I don't have to deal with this right now…" Stan reached up, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Get the hell out of here Cartman. All of you…party's over."

Token and Bebe didn't even protest before heading towards the living room. After a few moments the deafening music came to a dead silence, and that was almost more painful than the music itself. My ears were ringing as I shoved past Stan, pushing him with my shoulder as I passed. I didn't even look at the mess of drunks in the living room as I headed towards the front door, I was so fucking focused on getting the fuck out of there. I wanted to kill Stan for touching me, wanted to wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze until his head popped off and bounced around like the fucking football he was so famous for throwing. I nearly knocked Clyde to the floor as I yanked open the front door, slamming it so hard behind me it was a small miracle the tiny glass window on it didn't shatter. Too bad…I would've loved to hear Stan try to explain that to his parents…

I couldn't stop myself from turning around just before I slammed the door behind me.

I almost bit my tongue in half at what I saw.

Stan was heading up the stairs, a small, content frown on his face.

Kyle was up there.

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails cut scythe-shaped cuts into my palms, and then I turned and began walking down the street.

* * *

><p><em>(Kyle)<em>

_(I see the life, I see the sky, give it all to see you fly)_

When I opened my eyes, I could barely make out a few rays of weak light seeping in through Stan's window. I was laying on my side, facing the wall—and the window—the worn, blue comforter wrapped around my waist. I didn't really remember taking my clothes off last night—damn, I drank more then I should have—but I must've somehow gotten them off, because I wasn't wearing anything but my boxers. There was something warm wrapped around the middle of my abdomen, something that was pulling me tight up against—

Oh.

It was Stan. I should've known.

He had one arm thrown over my waist, holding me close to him so that my back was pressed against his chest. The skin on skin contact was hot, and that was probably why the blankets were down at our hips. I guess. Pulling away slightly, I glanced over my shoulder. My best friend's face was buried into his pillow, his jet black hair sticking up in all directions. He was peaceful looking, a tiny frown on his face, his chest rising and falling in a steady, slow rhythm. I didn't remember him crawling into bed with me last night…I must've passed the hell out as soon as my head hit his pillow. Oh…maybe that's why we were laying so close together: we were sharing a single, fluffy pillow. I felt a bit bad about that, I'd probably been hogging it when he came in and he was nice enough to share it with me. That was pretty typical though…Stan was always nice to me. Except when I did stupid things and got in trouble like…like…

Last night. Ah, shit.

Cartman. That asshole had punched me in the jaw!

I reached up with the arm that wasn't pinned down by Stan's much larger, heavier body, gingerly scraping the tip of my finger across the area that Cartman's fist had connected with. It was tender, a bit puffy, hopefully not too bad. Damn…what was my mom going to say when I showed up at the house with a giant bruise on my face? That damn Nazi! I swear to god, I don't know why any of us even put up with him…he does nothing but spread pain and suffering. To everyone. To _me_. Looking over my shoulder again, I bit my bottom lip. I really didn't want to wake him up…he was probably hungover as hell. Then again, his mom, dad, and sister were supposed to be back by noon… If the party was even half as big as I remember it being last night, then we needed to get cracking on cleaning up _immediately_ if we didn't want Mr. and Mrs. Marsh knowing we threw a raging party. God knows Mrs. Marsh would pitch a fit if she even caught the scent of alcohol…but that's _nothing_ compared to what my mom would do. I'd be lucky to survive for school tomorrow…

I said nothing, choosing instead to sit up, knowing that the motion and sudden change of positions would wake up my super best friend. His arm fell away from my torso as I rose, and then his eyes slowly fluttered open, tired blue staring up at me with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

He immediately closed his eyes again before grabbing me by the waist and yanking me back down. I yelped in surprise, trying to stifle my laughter as my side hit the mattress, the muscle and skin of Stan's chest once again pressing up against my back, but his grip was tighter this time.

I couldn't help but blush. Not because I was laying in bed with my best friend…nah, we did that all the time. That's normal. No, I could feel my face heating up because his fingers were pressed up against the muscles over my stomach, and he was laying so close to me I could feel his heart beating in his chest against my spine…

Not for the first time, I wondered if all best friends did stuff like this. Did everyone's best friend spoon them while they slept? Did everyone's best friend hold them tight when they were sleeping? Like he was afraid I was going to run away? Maybe we shouldn't do this…maybe we were the odd ones… After all, he and I only dared to sleep like this when his parents were away. When they were here I rolled out a sleeping bag on the floor. Funny, neither one of us ever discussed that…we always just knew that if the parents were here I'd take the floor…and if they weren't? We already knew that meant we'd share the bed. Didn't even need to discuss it. Like it was automatic, or something. Maybe instinct.

"Come on, lazy." I tried to pull away from him, "We need to get up."

"Nngh." He grunted, curling up against me.

"What was that?" My lips curved into a grin as I managed to sit halfway up.

"_Nngh._" His groan of protest was louder this time, and his touch tightened on my abs, practically pinning me down to the mattress.

I struggled a bit, but I knew it was a losing battle. I could swim faster like a fish (or a dolphin, as my father preferred), but when it came to brute strength, Stan always had me beat. Something he never let me live down.

"If you don't want your parents to know you had half the high school partying at their house last night…you might want to get up." I said smugly, glancing over my shoulder once again.

"Mmm…dude, don't be a buzzkill." Stan grumbled accusingly, face still buried half in his puffed pillow and half in my bare shoulder blade. His breath made goosebumps flare across my back…I wonder if he noticed…

"I'm not being a buzzkill, I'm just telling you the facts." I shook my head, lowering my cheek back down onto the pillow, "Your mom will freak if she comes home and sees all the bottles and cups downstairs. Plus, I think that one new girl, Bebe's cousin, puked in your bathroom sink…"

"Aw…what the hell?" Stan sighed, his lips moving against my shoulder as he spoke, "If she made it all the way to the bathroom why the fuck didn't she just puke in the toilet?"

"Don't ask me dude." Kyle shrugged, closing his eyes as he faced the wall again, "I was in the kitchen doing tequila shots with Kenny when that happened."

"Where the hell was I during all that?" Stan finally sat up then, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he pushed himself up with his arms, looking down at me.

"I don't know." I answered truthfully, rolling onto my back so that I was looking directly up at him, "I didn't really see you much of the night…"

I couldn't hide the disappointment from my voice. Stan must've sensed it, for he frowned apologetically, his eyes darkening.

"Sorry about that." His voice was low, serious, "I was running around trying to keep people from breaking shit."

"It's cool dude." I shrugged again, trying to keep my eyes focused on his face instead of on his bare chest, "Hosting the party always sucks because people wreck the place."

"No," Stan shook his head vehemently, his eyes turning stony, "I should've been there. I should've stopped Cartm—"

"Stopped Cartman?" I laughed and it was a hollow, barking sound, "Like that would've happened. I don't care anyway…I'm not scared of him. I'll fight that lard ass anytime he wants!"

"Kyle," Stan sighed deeply, "He's like twice your size, and he's nuts. He wouldn't think twice before seriously hurting you—"

"I don't care!" I sat up too then, anger bubbling in my chest, "I'm not fucking scared of him! And I'm not going to let him walk all over me whenever he wants!"

I am _not_ scared of Eric Cartman. Maybe I should be…after all, Stan was right. The guy was several inches taller than me—something that had pissed me off to no end for the past couple years—and he was _huge_. Not fat huge, no, he'd lost most of the lard after joining the football team his freshman year of high school. But then he replaced it all with muscle, and now he was as big as a house. Sure, he still had a pudgy stomach, and thick, sausage fingers, but he wasn't near the little ball of lard he was when we were in grade school. That didn't stop any of us from calling him fatass though…we all knew there were two things that actually got to Cartman: his weight and his mom. I had touched on both those points last night, and I guess that might've been why he decided to try and knock my teeth out. The weird thing though…Cartman never hits anyone but me. I've never seen him get into a physical fight with anyone else…sure, he and Stan often came close, but somehow one of them always backed down before it became really serious. And Kenny and Cartman normally got along pretty well. Better than anybody else got along with Cartman, actually. Though, that was more because Kenny is a strong believer in letting people do whatever the hell they want then anything else.

"I guess we should get dressed…" Stan said reluctantly, looking over and onto the floor.

"Um…yeah…" I felt my face heat up again as I realized the state of undress we were in. Don't get me wrong, I've seen Stan completely naked quite a few times but…but ever since he got _muscles_…things have been a little different. And me? My body had changed so much since I joined the swim team I almost never recognized myself. When I look in the mirror, I still expect to see a scrawny ginger with pale skin and bony shoulders staring back at me. Now…now there's like muscles on my stomach, and my shoulders and arms actually have some definition…it's a bit disconcerting. Intimidating, even.

My eyes followed Stan's gaze, and I soon realized what he was looking at: my clothes were bunched up on the carpet.

Pulling the blankets away from our bodies, Stan swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching his arms to the sky. He was tall now, and his fingertips weren't too far from touching his low ceiling. Swaggering over towards his wooden dresser, he yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a clean pair of jeans.

"You want to borrow some of my clothes?" Stan looked over his shoulder at me as he hunched over, stepping into the legs of his jeans.

"Nah," I shook my head in refusal, "We haven't worn the same size in years dude…"

"Still…" He shrugged as his fingers worked his zipper, zipping and buttoning his jeans nimbly, "If you want clean clothes, I got plenty…"

"I'm good." I answered. Stan's jeans would drag on the floor for me anyway.

I swung my legs over the bed, standing up and stretching my arms just like Stan did. I couldn't help but close my eyes in contentment as I reached my arms high over my head. The feeling of my triceps, biceps, and deltoids being pulled apart was painfully pleasurable. Tilting my head back so that my bruised jaw was in the air, I turned my head from side to side, stretching my neck muscles as much as possible. My whole body felt a bit tight, probably a sign that me and Stan had slept against each other in the same position all night. Arching my back slightly backward, I tried my best to stretch out my abdominal muscles, the bones in my hips jutting out in a v-shape. Letting out a deep breath, I finally dropped my arms, collapsing my body back to normal. Forcibly prying my eyelids open, I turned to look at my super best friend.

Stan was completely still, staring at me with hard, ocean-colored eyes.

"Um…you ok?" I asked, cocking my head to the side questioningly.

"What?" Stan blinked in response, looking at me like I'd spoken to him in a foreign language.

"You're…like, staring at me." I blushed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.

"Oh. Sorry." Stan replied slowly.

But he didn't sound sorry, just confused. And he was still looking at me.

"We should really start cleaning up your place." I turned away from his as I spoke, bending down to scoop up my clothes from the floor.

"Yeah…yeah, definitely." Stan seemed to finally shake himself out of his trance as he yanked open another draw from his dresser, pulling out a plain white undershirt.

"I think some girl was throwing bottles against the wall in your living room last night…" I winced as I spoke, realizing that that meant there would be shards of glass _everywhere_ for us to pick up.

"Fantastic." Stan rolled his eyes, "This is what I get for telling Bebe about the party. It was only going to be a few people, but _no_, of course she had to go and invite everybody."

"Well, if we get started now we can get done pretty quickly." I reasoned, trying to cheer him up a bit. I may have been telling a little white lie, after all, the downstairs living room was probably a disaster zone.

"Alright." Stan smiled softly, "And then afterwards…I'm going back to sleep."

I couldn't help but laugh at that, even though my stomach did a flip as I realized it'd be nice to join him.

And the worst part?

The worst part was…I knew he'd _want_ me to join him.

I don't know what that means. I guess it doesn't matter.


	3. Float On

_(Cartman)_

_(You won't even listen so fuck it_

_I'm trying to stop you from breathing_

_I put both hands on your throat_

_I sit on top of you squeezing)_

It was 7:03 in the morning, and I was standing outside at the bus stop.

It was fucking cold as shit. I didn't expect anything less; it was, after all, the beginning of October. The exact time when it starts to get extremely cold again. Thankfully, there wasn't much of a wind today, so standing at the bus stop wasn't near the torture it was capable of being. Why the fuck my mother would choose to live in this frozen hell hole, I have no idea. As soon as I can I'm getting the fuck out of this dumb hick town, and I'll move somewhere warm. Somewhere there's no god damn hippies…maybe Texas. Yeah, it snows there, but it's nothing like South Park. This town's nothing but shit anyway. There's nothing here for me; I've already exhausted any sort of reward I'd get out of this place. The people here had nothing left to offer me, nothing that was worth my time. I needed to get out of this place, needed to get somewhere where there were actually people with brains, people that would _appreciate_ my leadership skills. There was a light snow on the ground, and I kicked at it with my shoes, making a soft, sloshing sound. It was wet, thin snow…but still. That meant it'd only be a few more weeks before I wouldn't even be able to walk through my front yard because of snow.

Fucking fantastic.

I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine…but I was in a _particularly_ foul mood this morning.

First of all, I fucking hate Mondays. I hate school in general—really, what did any of those bitch ass hippy teachers have to teach me?—but Mondays were particularly bad because all damn day all I'd think about was that I still had four more days of pure hell before the weekend. Secondly, after Stan effectively kicked me out of his house, I had the shittiest weekend possible. My mom had brought home one of her clients Saturday night, and I had been unfortunate enough to return home just in time to hear the squeaking of the mattress, the thump of the headboard, and of course my fucking mom screaming her head off like a fucking dying cat. Yeah…the hole I left in my bathroom wall would hopefully send a message to that slut to keep her business out of our god damned house. Thirdly, to top everything off, I was hungover as shit all day Sunday. I must've drank more then I thought at Stan's house, because all I did from sun up to sun down was lay in bed and watch TV. I had hoped one of my supposed 'friends' would call me up…but of course I was disappointed. Those little fuckers. I would've thought Stan would've had the decency to apologize to me, but no, of course that was expecting far too much out of the simpleton.

"Hey Cartman."

I turned to my left only to see the bright orange figure of Kenny approaching me. He'd left the hood of his parka down, and I could see he was frowning just as deeply as I was. Good. It gave me a great deal of satisfaction to know I wasn't the only one who didn't want to waste my life by going to school.

"Where the hell were you Saturday night?" I snapped, reaching up to adjust the blue cap I was wearing on my head, "I couldn't fucking find you when Stan was kicking everyone out."

Not exactly the truth. I didn't _want_ to find him because I was so pissed at the time, but I did realize later that, when everything was going down, Kenny was nowhere to be seen. I'm quite observant, and this small detail would help me more than the average person could imagine. The fact is that Kenny comes from a family that does not care about him, and I know that any indication that someone _did_ care about him was sure to elicit a positive response from the poor boy. I may not get as good of grades as some others, but I'm not fucking stupid. I can read people like a book, and I know exactly what to say and when to fucking say it. Kenny was no exception, and his pale, icy blue eyes brightened up at my words.

Fucking pathetic. He was so easy to read, really, it wasn't even a challenge.

"Sorry I was…busy." McCormick shook his head, his words uncharacteristically vague.

"Busy doing what?" I huffed indignantly, pretending that I couldn't possibly imagine what he'd rather be doing instead of hanging with me. Again, I'm not fucking stupid. But if allowing Kenny to imagine I'd desperately been searching for him…well, this would pay off eventually. I am, after all, a master at dealing with delayed gratification.

"Don't worry about it." Kenny shook his head again, blonde hair sweeping from side to side, "So…did Stan give you that bruise on your chin?"

I couldn't help but self-consciously reach up, wiping the small red area on my jaw with my fingertips. Clenching my hand into a tight fist, I swiftly dropped my hand back down, angry that I'd allowed Kenny to catch me unaware. Fuck…there hadn't been much of a mark yesterday…it must've gotten worse since I last checked it in the mirror. Mother fucker. That meant everyone at school would think that Stan had gotten the best of me…or worse, that Kyle had gotten a hit in after I punched his face. Fuck, all because that little shit caught me when I wasn't looking…

"He just punched me out of nowhere," I replied nonchalantly, pretending like I could barely remember it, "It was completely uncalled for. He was behaving like a lunatic, screaming at me for nothing and then knocking me in the face as soon as my back was turned—"

"Yeah, I'm sure you hitting Kyle had nothing to do with it." Kenny rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips.

"If Stan was angry at me for an earlier altercation I had with Kahl," I spoke quietly, my voice sharp, "Then he should've said so instead of hitting me. There was no need for him to react so violently—"

"Oh shut up Cartman." Kenny spat, pointing a finger at me, "Stan was pissed because you left a mark on Kyle, what the hell did you expect to happen?"

"Hey!" I snarled, feeling the rage pool in my gut, "If the little fucking Jew runt hadn't insulted me then I wouldn't have had to break his face! Besides, Stan should let the little fucker fight for himself anyway—"

"Look," Kenny sighed tiredly, throwing up his hands in exasperation, "I'm not saying you shouldn't have hit him. You and Kyle can do whatever the fuck you want to each other—hell, beat the shit out of him, steal his bicycle, you could even get on your knees and blow him for all I care. Just don't act like you don't know why Stan would be so upset with you. You _know_ what him and Kyle are like."

"Oh please…" I grumbled, turning away from the poor boy, "Like I'd ever be on my knees for a little bitch like Kahl Broflovski…"

I was steaming as I looked away from the blonde. The conversation had started with him wrapped around my little finger…and ended with me having to actually defend myself. Not my best at all. It was frustrating as fuck to know I hadn't gotten to Kenny, but whatever, it wasn't like he was worth anything anyway. Nothing to be gained from the one except maybe a few laughs. The next two minutes we stood in complete silence. Unlike Kyle and Stan—who seemed to always be needlessly chattering with each other—Kenny was completely content in pure silence. To others it may have been unnerving…to me it was very much welcome. I'd have to spend the next seven hours straight listening to old, stuffy men and women drone on and on about polynomials, ancient Rome, and—my least favorite of all—the interpretation of Romeo and Juliet.

I fucking hate Shakespeare.

It was only after two minutes or so of silence that Stan and Kyle made their arrival…fucking walking together, like little girls. Stan was on the left, smiling, his lips moving rapidly as he talked about something. I was too far away to hear whatever it was, but it must've been humorous because Kyle tilted his head back and laughed out loud. He laughed loudly and fully, his lips splitting and revealing two rows of straight, white teeth. Curls of his vibrant, scarlet colored hair were sticking out from under the dark green ushanka that was set haphazardly on top of his head. The combination of his jarring steps plus the tilt of his head nearly caused the hat to fall off, but he reached up with slender, dexterous fingers to hold it down on his head. As they got closer I could begin to make out the small, very light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheekbones, so tiny that they were barely noticeable. Kyle's eyes were a bright green just a few shades paler then emerald, and they were lit up in pleasure as Stan reached over, placing his hand on Kyle's shoulder—

Why the fuck does Stan always feel the need to touch him so much?

I couldn't help but sneer as Stan drew his hand away, smiling just as widely as his super best friend.

What the fuck were they smiling about? I really wanted to fucking know. But they wouldn't tell me…even if I asked, they'd keep it to themselves. Like they spoke a fucking language only the two of them could understand. It was infuriating…downright annoying. I swear to god, half the time they only did it to piss me off.

It was fucking working, to say the least.

By the time the Jew and the jock finally reach us, I was ready to wipe that self-satisfied smile right off of Stan's face.

"Hey guys." Stan's voice was guarded as he glanced at me with apprehension.

I made no move to acknowledge him…or the bruise he had left on my chin. I've known Marsh for over ten years now, and I know that when he gets angry he'll always eventually be able to let it go. As much as I wanted to beat his face into the asphalt road, it would serve my interests better to let him think we were back to being friends.

"Dude, where the hell did you disappear to Saturday?" Kyle turned toward Kenny, not paying attention to me at all.

Unlike Stan, Kyle would fume for a while. But eventually he'd need my help with something, and then he'd be forced to forgive me. Or, perhaps I could find some other way to speed the process up…

"I had shit to do." Kenny shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Anyway…it's not like any of you tried to call me or anything yesterday."

There was hurt in his voice, and I seized upon it, storing that information for later.

"Sorry Kenny." Kyle cringed apologetically, "Me and Stan just kind of laid in bed all day."

"Oh really? You guys must've been having a pretty good time then." Kenny smirked wickedly, turning toward the road as he noticed the yellow bus approaching.

"You know that's not what I meant." Kyle rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself, "We were just lazy as hell."

For some reason I suddenly wanted to take a baseball bat and smash it against Stan Marsh's skull. Then, when I was finished with him, I'd take the bat to Kyle and finish him off too. The thought of beating the brains out of those two wasn't enough to push away the mental image of them laying in bed together, but at least it was enough to stop me from pushing Stan in front of the bus.

I don't know why the fuck they leech off of each other so much. It was fucking pathetic…disgusting, even.

We boarded the bus in silence, ignoring the screeching yells of the bitch bus driver. Kyle and Stan took their customary seat towards the front, and Kenny slid in next to Butters. The two blondes immediately began giggling about something…whatever, I didn't give a shit about them. I ended up sliding two seats behind Kyle and Stan, kicking out my leg when some black haired freshman girl tried to take a seat next to me. She huffed and puffed in annoyance before sauntering off, her nose stuck high in the air. Whatever…little cunt could be pissed off all she wanted. I was fucking irate as hell and I wanted a god damned seat to myself. Plus, there were plenty of other places she could plant her tramp ass down.

It didn't take me long to realize sitting behind Stan and Kyle was a huge fucking mistake.

Though the bus was full of noise—from girls gossiping to boys bragging about the ass they got over the weekend—but I could still make out the words coming from Stan and Kyle's mouths. First Stan was teasing the Jew about beating him in video games all weekend, then Kyle was pretending to be super offended, then Stan was pretending to vow his undying service to him in return for forgiveness… It was all very cute.

It made me want to stab someone until they stopped moving.

The worst part was the entire time the dumb ass jock felt the need to _touch_ Kyle. First they were brushing shoulders, then they were wrestling around and Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle's stomach, then he was grabbing Kyle by the wrist and playfully pinning him down to the seat, and of course Kyle had to laugh sweetly and pretend to try and struggle to get away, his hips raising up and connecting with Stan's side—

Why the _fuck_ did he let Stan touch him like that?

The last thing I heard before we pulled into school was Kyle reminding Stan to pick him up after swim practice, when Stan's mom was letting him use the car. I smiled at that, realizing that that afternoon we had all agreed to meet up to work on some stupid homework assignment for world history—the only class the four of us all had together. At least I'd be there to interrupt their super best friend time later this afternoon.

As we stood up to exit the bus, Kyle lost his balance slightly, stumbling to the side, causing Stan to place a steadying hand on his hip.

If I could get away with it, I would've wrapped my hands around Stan's throat right then and there.

* * *

><p><em>(Kyle)<em>

_(Alright, already we'll all float on_

_Alright, don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy_

_We'll all float on)_

I love swimming.

The coach blew the whistle and I leapt from the board, expertly breaking the surface and sliding into the water. As soon as I dove in sound disappeared, and the silence of the water filled my ears. It was relaxing. During races I would always get psyched out, my heart rate increasing exponentially for every second I spent on the board, waiting for the command, waiting to spring forward like a predator. It was nerve-wracking, even though it was only a few moments. After you've won four state championships, people expect you to do well, so the eyes are always on me. The pressure totally sucks…but as soon as I'm underwater everything else ceases to exist except for me and the water. Maybe that's why I do so well. Once I'm in the water I forget at I'm a competition, forget that all my friends and family are cheering me on, forget that I absolutely _have_ to get first place to know that I did my best. I was just at practice now, so the pressure wasn't squeezing my insides like normal, but my coach was taking my time for the hundred meter freestyle—the event I was most well known for.

I had placed first at states in the hundred meter my sophomore and junior year, and everyone expected me to do it again. My sophomore year I placed first in the two hundred meter freestyle and second in the fifty meter freestyle, and then junior year it was the reverse: first in the fifty and second in the two hundred. My goal this year was to _finally_ place first in all three of the freestyle events. I'd be walking away from high school with seven state championships if I did that. And hopefully a full-ride swim scholarship to college. I'd been approached by quite a few recruiters already, and my coach had gleefully organized meetings with all the ones I was most interested in. The one right now that held my attention was Florida…not only because their medical program was top-notch, but also because—after years and years of snowy South Park—the idea of moving down to the Sunshine State was _extremely _appealing.

And maybe Stan had told me their football recruiters were coming up to see him in two weeks.

But back to swimming.

My legs were on fire as I kicked, but I ignored the pain as I approached the far wall for the first time. I executed a perfect flip-turn, pushing off the wall so quickly that my brain didn't even have time to register the sudden, violent turning sensation. Water rushed by my body as I raced through the water, the strength of my pulling arms and kicking legs sending waves throughout the pool. I reached my starting wall quickly, once again conducting the flip-turn with near perfection. My coach always did say my textbook-style flip-turn was one of the reasons I performed so well; many high school level swimmers couldn't perform it correctly. I had gotten to the point now where my kick off the wall was sending me—at a minimum—several lengths. I hit my final flip-turn, kicking off the wall with as much strength as my already exhausted body would allow—and then some more. My lungs were burning the last twenty-five meters, but I didn't care. I'd slow down if I took a breath, so I pushed on, forcing myself through the chlorinated water, ignoring the feeling of my chest compressing down upon itself.

I hit the wall with my fingertips before surfacing, gasping for air as I whipped my head to the left side of the pool, where I knew my coach was standing.

His name was Coach Letty, and he was a tall, lanky man, with blonde hair and pale skin. He was alright, a real nice guy according to everyone else at school except me. But, then again, I was the one he was screaming at to go faster, to push harder. I was the one forced to endure hours of swimming on end, the one who sometimes could barely walk up a flight of stairs after one of his workouts. So maybe my opinion was a little biased.

"Time?" My breath was haggard as I treaded in the water, muscles protesting as I put in as little effort possible to remain afloat.

He smiled down at me—uh oh. That could only mean one of two things: either I'd actually impressed him for once…or he was about to verbally assault me.

"Forty-nine point eighty-two seconds." His grin widened as he spoke, kneeling down so that he was closer to my eye level, "Excellent job today Kyle! And we still have several weeks left in the season…"

"You think I'll actually be able to break past forty-eight this year?" I beamed up at him, unable to hide my pleasure.

"You're damn right I think you can!" Letty stood back up, placing his hands on his hips, "Go ahead and get out. You're done for the day."

I reached out with my arms, placing my hands on the edge of the pool wall, easily hauling myself out of the water. Even though the pool was indoors, I immediately began to shiver as the air hit my soaked body, goosebumps flaring across my back and chest. It didn't help that the only things I was wearing was a cap over my wild hair, a pair of swim goggles, and a tight, black speedo that made my father cringe and my brother roar with laughter every time they saw it. Whatever. My freshman year I couldn't even bear to be seen in the tiny piece of swimwear, but after three years and god knows how many swim meets where I was _forced_ to spend hours on end in the speedo, it was hard to feel embarrassed about it anymore.

"Here you go kid," Letty reached out, a fluffy white towel in his hand, "You can take off. I'm going to stay and have the girls run through a practice relay."

"Thanks." I nodded in appreciation, feeling a small pang of sympathy for the girls. Letty was going to run them into the ground since at the last swim meet their relay times were abysmal. I gripped the towel in my hands, running it over my dripping body as quickly as I could, desperate to get out of there as soon as possible, before Letty changed his mind and decided he'd rather have me do some more laps.

"Oh, Kyle, I meant to ask you," Letty turned back toward me, reaching up and running a pale hand through his yellow hair, "How are your classes going? Everything good?"

"Yeah," I answered as I reached up with one hand, gingerly pulling my black swim cap off of my head, "I got my midterm back from Calculus today. I got a ninety-seven percent on it, and that's the only class I thought I might be having trouble in."

"Well it sounds like you're doing excellent." Letty smiled at me once again, and I couldn't help but glow under his praise. What can I say, my parents didn't dole out compliments very often, and it was nice to hear someone congratulating me.

"I'll see you tomorrow coach." I turned around, throwing the white towel over my shoulders.

"Not tomorrow," Letty shook his head, also turning away from me, his attention going back to the girls, "It's my daughters first birthday tomorrow. No practice…but be ready for Wednesday."

Great. If we were skipping practice Tuesday, that meant Wednesday was going to be pure hell. I could already feel my muscles screaming in protest.

I nodded in affirmation as I headed towards the bleachers where my gear was. The indoor pool had been constructed at the high school only five years before I showed up, and it was nice because everything was so new and clean. The tile beneath my feet was wet but completely spotless, and the high windows on the walls surrounding the pool were polished clean, allowing for as much light as possible to enter. Bending over, I dropped the white towel onto the first row of shiny bleachers, leaving it there for the coach. He always brought us towels to use, but we all brought our own anyway. I reached into my black and gray gym bag, yanking out a dark, navy blue towel to finish drying off my body. Casting my goggles and cap into the bag, I reached up with both hands and vigorously rubbed my hair with the towel, trying hard to dry it as much as possible. I have crazy hair to begin with, and after a good swim it would stick up in every direction imaginable.

Pulling the towel down, I rubbed my eyes tiredly with it. The feeling of the soft, dry fabric on my face was calming. I couldn't wait to get back to my house and lay down; I had that total-body exhaustion going on. The good kind, like where the idea of sleep and rest was so heavenly I couldn't wait to get to it. Not the kind where I didn't even want to exist anymore because my muscles hurt so much. Nah…that'd be Wednesday.

I threw the towel around my neck, allowing it to fall over my shoulders and across my chest as I reached into my bag, checking my cell phone.

4:48 pm.

Wait…oh fuck.

I had told Stan to pick me up at 4:30…shit!

I stuffed my feet into my sneakers, not even bothering to put on socks. Piling all my shit into my gym bag, I turned around and began sprinting towards the doors.

Fuck…the guys were going to be so mad at me for keeping them waiting.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to all my reviewers, your kind words really are what make me keep writing. And to all my readers: please please review! I really want to know what you all think! Should I keep this up? Is it going well? Are the characters believable? Please let me know. <strong>


	4. Coming Undone

_(Stan)_

_(Wait, I'm coming undone)_

"What the fuck is taking him so long?"

"Shut up Cartman," I rolled my eyes in irritation, "It's only been like ten minutes."

We were standing in the school parking lot, me and Kenny leaning against my mom's Camry. I didn't have practice today, so after school I took the bus home. My mom was waiting, and fortunately I didn't end up having to spend nearly twenty minutes convincing her I wasn't going to drive her car of the edge of a freeway. She'd had a headache and tossed me the keys without protest, shutting her bedroom door quickly behind her to climb back into bed. I felt a bit sorry for her—she really did look sickly—but the guys and I had a project to work on. It was typical high school bullshit: a PowerPoint project on (of all god damn things) Nazi concentration camps in World War II. Yeah…as soon as we were assigned that topic Kenny and I had shared equally horrified, tortured looks of pain. He followed it up by holding his hand up to his temple and pretending to shoot himself in the head. Yeah, we were _that_ thrilled about our topic. Not because it wasn't interesting (it is) and not because it isn't an important part of history (it is), no, we were dreading this project so much because of certain other guys in our group.

Cartman and Kyle. Fuck, it would be a damn _miracle_ if World War III didn't break out because of this stupid project.

I don't even understand group PowerPoints anyway. It's all done on the fucking computer…how the hell are we supposed to work as a group on something like that? I mean, I could do this project by myself in like two hours…ok, maybe _I_ couldn't, but Kyle totally could. He's so smart…Kenny, Cartman and I would most likely do nothing but hold him back. If I were as smart as he was I'd hate to have to work in a group with a bunch of idiots like us. But of course Kyle never complained, never berated us when we obviously weren't understanding something, when we couldn't grasp a key concept. No, he'd simply sit us down one on one and calmly, patiently walk us through whatever it was we weren't getting.

I don't know how he had the patience to deal with us.

But that was Kyle. So damn smart…and so damn eager to help anyone who needed it.

The school parking lot was remarkably full for it being past 4:30 in the afternoon. School let out at two, but there were a couple dozen cars dotting the lot, mostly junkers and safe, family-style sedans. The types of cars that the average middle-class family would be able to afford for their school age children. And of course, there was Token's brand new, cherry red Challenger that had rims so shiny I could see them glittering all the way from the other side of the parking lot. Nobody in the school even ragged on him, the car was so beautiful. It was hard to be jealous of him when all people could do was stare in pure awe of his awesome Challenger. He was so in love with that car, it was impossible to feel any sort of contempt for him after seeing how pure his happiness was. Or at least, that's what I thought anyway. Cartman, of course, had—on the day Token first drove up in that thing of beauty—that it was a flashy piece of shit given to Token by his parents solely to remind everyone at school that they were the richest family in all of South Park. But whatever…Cartman was just jealous because his mom refused to pay for him to get another car after he wrecked the Accord he used to have.

Anyway, it was cold as shit out, even though the sun was beaming over us so brightly it hurt to open my eyes. There wasn't any sort of a wind thank god, but there was that crisp, bone-chattering chill that only happened in pure sunlight. It was enough to start making Cartman cranky, and that was probably why he was pacing in front of me and Kenny, swinging his clenched fists, griping about how long it was taking Kyle to finish swim practice. After I'd gotten the car from mom I picked up both my friends, and then we'd gone to the library to check out a few books that might help us with the project. That'd taken up almost the entire afternoon, and afterward we immediately headed back to the school to pick up Kyle. He'd told me 4:30, but it had to be at least ten minutes past that by now…

"Seriously guys," Cartman huffed in annoyance as he turned on foot, stomping back and forth across the asphalt, "We've been waiting for almost fifteen god damn minutes, and I for one do not have all god damn day to waste on waiting for the little Jew fish to finish practice!"

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms against my chest, "What the hell else do you have to do Cartman?"

"That's not the point!" Cartman stopped pacing, turning and pointing a finger at me, "The point is that I _could_ have important things to do and Kahl is being _extremely_ rude and inconsiderate by forcing us to wait so god damn long for him!"

"It's been fifteen minutes." I stated dryly, fixing him with a tired stare.

He was annoying. But Kyle was keeping us…hopefully nothing was wrong. He was a state champion swimmer, but what if he dove in wrong and hit his head? Or what if his diabetes acted up and they had to send him to the hospital? Or maybe he'd gotten a cramp and sank to the bottom, drowning before anyone even realized—

"I'm sure the coach is just keeping him late." Kenny turned to look at me with his pale eyes, staring at me so hard I would've sworn he was reading my mind.

"Yeah…yeah." I shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

The metal of the car was cold against my back, so much so that I could feel it through the thick fabric of my dull blue jack. I couldn't help but shiver slightly, a pang of cold discomfort running from my hip all the way up my back until it finally settled around my neck. Kenny was shivering roughly next to me, his body convulsing hard every few seconds. The orange parka he wore was torn and ratty, but of course his family couldn't afford to buy him new clothes. Maybe when I got home I could go through some of my stuff, see if I had anything I could give him, even though he was like Kyle—probably two sizes smaller than me. I'd have to do that when Cartman wasn't around though, god knows the fatass would rip on Kenny for weeks if he knew I was giving him hand outs…

"Oh, finally!" Kenny's mouth suddenly split into a smile as he straightened up, leaning away from my car.

Cartman froze in place, a few feet in front of us before turning around, his beady, mud-colored eyes turning towards the doors to the school's aquatic center. I stood up like Kenny, also leaning away from my car, narrowing my eyes as I scanned the area.

The red haired figure running towards us was unmistakable.

He had a lean body, with the long, defined muscles of a true swimmer. Kyle's arms were flying from side to side as he sprinted towards us, the muscles in his biceps flexing with each turn of his arm. He wasn't a big guy, but it was obvious he was an athlete by the way his muscles were cut through his lightly colored skin. I couldn't help but allow my eyes to linger downward, suddenly finding myself focusing on Kyle's stomach—of all things. He had muscle there too, a six-pack that could make most girls swoon and guys red with jealousy. Or red with _something_, at least. Sometimes it was still hard for me to realize that this guy—this guy with short, curly scarlet hair, this guy with tight, hard muscle all over his body, this guy who walked with the sure gait of an athlete in tune with his body—was really my super best friend. Sometimes I could close my eyes and still picture the skinny, clumsy boy he used to be. And it wasn't just his body that had changed, no, now he had this…_confidence_. Only an athlete, only someone who's pushed themselves to the limit, who _knows_ what they're truly capable of, has that kind of confidence.

Either way, that speedo was _not_ covering up as much of him as it should've been.

He had longish legs for being so short—Kyle had always been several inches behind me, ever since grade school. And the muscles in his thighs were flexing as he approached us, his chest heaving. Kyle had his gym bag over one shoulder and a blue towel over the other, but other than that…there was next to nothing covering him. His vibrant hair was sticking up everywhere, and the bones from his hips were sticking out, the lines cut into his waist forming an alluring V-shape before disappearing behind the wet fabric of his tiny swimwear. There were tiny droplets dotting his shoulders, glistening across clear skin, and for some reason I felt a strong urge to reach out and wipe them off. Kyle came to a skidding halt in front of us, bending forward, panting heavily.

"S-sorry guys," Kyle huffed, looking up with apologetic eyes, "I kinda…lost track of t-time."

I didn't say anything. I was…having a hard time processing language in my brain. Kyle gave me a strange look, like he was confused, and he opened his mouth as if to say something…

"Something wrong, Stan?" The redhead stood up straight, his green eyes clouded with concern.

"I…ah…" My lips moved, but I couldn't really seem to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah Stan," Kenny smirked at me, "Something wrong?"

"I…aren't you cold?" I shook my head, trying to physically stop my eyes from darting down and greedily drinking up the sight of Kyle's bare waist.

"Actually yeah," Kyle wrapped his arms around his torso, "I'm freezing. Let me put some pants on…"

"Yeah, I think that'd be a good idea." When Kenny spoke he was looking directly at me, his eyes glazed over like he was thinking about something that was happening far away.

Kyle dropped his gym back onto the asphalt, reaching down and quickly unzipping it. He yanked out a pair of sweatpants before hurriedly pulling them over his legs. The fabric clung to his waist, cinching tightly around his hips. Pulling out a plain white jacket, Kyle stuffed his arms into it, not even bothering to zip the thing up before reaching down and picking up the bag again.

"Did you guys go to the library?" Kyle turned, looking at me as he threw his bag over his shoulder.

"Of course." I smiled brightly, forcing myself to shove my hands into my pockets. If I didn't, I might've reached out and tried to touch him. It was still tempting…

"Awesome." Kyle grinned back at me, "So are we doing this thing at your house?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go." I reached out with my arm, indicating towards my car.

Kyle opened up the front passenger door, sliding into his usual spot in shotgun. That was an unspoken rule: if I was driving, then Kyle got the front seat. Kenny smirked at me again, like he'd caught me doing something I really shouldn't have been doing, and then he yanked open one of the back car doors, silently lowering himself into the backseat. I frowned suddenly, turning around to face our fourth friend…who had been remarkably quiet…

As soon as our eyes connected, my breath caught in my chest.

Cartman was staring at me with pure hatred. His dark eyes were narrowed, untrusting, and so full of anger I actually took a step back, readying myself in case he lashed out at me. He stared at me a few moments, his body tense like a predator stalking its prey, and then suddenly he turned, his enraged gaze suddenly shifting away from me, and settling on something else.

Kyle.

Cartman was staring at my seated friend, and his expression quickly changed from pure hatred to something…sinister. His eyes darkened like a shadow suddenly eclipsed them, and then his lips were curling into a small, knowing grin.

I felt a strong urge to wrap my hand around Kyle's wrist and drag him away to somewhere safe.

Then Cartman turned towards me, still smiling. He walked forward and pulled open the car door before sliding in in pure silence.

I stood, frozen in place for a few moments.

"Aren't we leaving Stan?" Kyle looked up at me, his eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"Yeah…yeah." I nodded slowly before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my keys.

The whole ride back to my house, I couldn't help but think I'd just seen something very important.

* * *

><p><em>(Cartman)<em>

_(There is no turning back now_

_You've woken up the demon in me)_

I saw the way Stan looked at Kyle.

When Kyle ran out in his teeny speedo, it was like being treated to a skin show. He was practically naked, with all those swimming muscles of his flexing nicely as he strode towards us. At first I'd been unable to tear my eyes away, and that was…puzzling. I had never before found myself so…_entranced _by a person before. Ideas, philosophies, _thinking_ could leave me mesmerized…but not people. People were weak, useful only in what they were worth to me, what they could do for me. And Kyle…what could he possibly give me? He was intelligent, yes, I would have to grudgingly admit that. He would certainly be a useful ally, even with his disgusting, Jewish blood. But I had long ago determined that his smarts did not outweigh the pathetic sense of morality he possessed, and for that reason he was useless to me.

Or at least, that's what I had thought.

Suddenly, however, it seems I could have been mistaken.

Judging from Kyle's flushed face, his heavy breathing, the way his stomach muscles flexed as he tried to catch his breath…

Hmm. It would seem that Kyle _could_ offer me something.

That thought had initially left me somewhat pleased, excited even…until I turned and looked at Stan.

He was staring as hard at Kyle as I imagined I must've been. There was…something in his eyes that I did not think Stan capable of. Like…a hunger. How amusing. I would've never thought Stan, the vanilla, jock star of the high school, would be capable of something as base as lust. But that was exactly what it was. He was staring at Kyle with such a longing it was amazing that the redhead didn't notice. Then again, Kyle was so naïve it's not all that surprising that someone could undress him with their eyes and he wouldn't even notice. _I_, however, did notice. Stan's body was tense like he was preparing for a fight…or perhaps he was trying incredibly hard not to move. Either way, it was obvious he was nearly in pain from stopping himself from revealing his desires. How cute…the super best friend was trying very hard to protect the Jew from his feelings. If I were someone else, perhaps I would find this endearing. Perhaps I would…_endorse_ this little longing that Stan seemed to possess.

Too bad I'd have to crush it. I certainly wasn't going to allow Stan Marsh, of all people, to stand in my way.

The ride back to Stan's house was filled with Kyle's elated description of his swim practice…as if any of us really wanted to hear about that. But of course, Stan and Kenny ooh'ed and ahh'ed at all the right parts, with Stan busting out a ridiculous smile as Kyle told him he thought he would break his record this year. Perhaps he really was that interested in Kyle's pool adventures, or (more likely, I thought) Stan was just pretending to be interested to butter Kyle up, weasel the little Jew onto his side. Well, it would seem Stan was just as much of a manipulator as I was. That didn't matter however, I had far more experience in this game and I never lose. Now was going to be no different. As soon as we arrived at Stan's house he ushered us upstairs, proclaiming that his bitch mother was sick and that we'd need to work upstairs so as not to bother her. I scoffed at that, but kept my mouth shut, unsure of whether or not said bitch could hear me from her room. Heading up the stairs, I had to bite my lip to keep from snarling in anger as I watch Stan place a not-so-innocent hand on Kyle's shoulder, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear. My rage settled in my stomach, leaving my body feeling heavy as Kyle smiled handsomely at whatever it was Stan said.

I really fucking hate when they do that. Like they have so much to say that for some fucking reason they can't say in front of me and Kenny.

We all planted down in our usual spots in Stan's room: Kenny sitting on the floor, his back against Stan's bed, me jumping onto the bed and stretching out (always to Stan's protests about my shoes), and Kyle sat at Stan's computer, happily leaning forward and staring at the screen. Stan of course had pulled up a chair next to him, leaning over his shoulder and making 'helpful' (useless) comments about whatever it was Kyle was working on. As much of an expert I would consider myself on the subject of Nazi concentration camps, I didn't feel the need to chime in. Kyle, being the little nerd that he was, could easily finish the entire project on his own. Besides, I very much doubted he'd like to hear anything I'd have to say about the camps…not that that's ever stopped me before, but now pissing off Kyle seemed counterproductive. I wasn't used to self-control however, and every time Stan or Kyle made a comment I had to bite down on my lip from letting out any racist remarks.

It was only after thirty minutes of 'working' on the project that I noticed Kenny's blonde head was tilted down, his mouth slightly open. I would've been content to leave him there, but apparently Stan wasn't. He wadded up a piece of notebook paper and effortlessly snapped it at Kenny's head, knocking him right on the nose.

"Hey!" The poor boy sat up quickly, his light eyes darting from side to side wildly.

"Sorry dude," Stan grinned evilly down at him, "But you were about to start snoring."

"Oh, ok, sorry." The blonde shrugged apologetically, "Not my fault this project is boring as shit."

"Maybe it'd be a little less boring if you actually helped." Kyle rolled his eyes, but he was smiling good-naturedly. If it had been me who started dozing Kyle would've snapped at me, angrily telling me to do my share or go the fuck home. But no, of _course_ he was willing to let it go with Kenny. Of _course _he would be kind to everyone and save his contempt for me and me only.

Fucking Jew rat.

"So did you guys hear about Token's party this weekend?" Kenny leaned forward with renewed interest, glancing back and forth between me, Stan, and Kyle.

"Token's having a party?" Kyle cocked an eyebrow up, swiveling around in the computer chair to face Kenny.

"Yeah I heard something about that." Stan nodded, "He mentioned it to me in English."

I had heard something about that too. All the football guys were talking about it at lunch. I hadn't been specifically invited…but we all knew how Token's parties were.

"His parents are going out of town all weekend!" Kenny responded gleefully, "He's already spent like four hundred dollars on booze!"

"I don't know dude…" Kyle sighed, reaching up and rubbing his eyes, "I did absolutely nothing all day Sunday because I was so hungover…"

"Oh come on dude!" Kenny threw his hands up dramatically, "Practically everyone from school is going. Plus Stan's the quarterback, its totally required for him to go and get drunk as shit—"

"Whoa, I just said I don't know." Kyle held up his hands in defense, "Just because I don't go doesn't mean Stan won't."

"Oh please Kyle." Kenny rolled his eyes, "We all know Stan's going to do whatever you do."

"That's not true…" Kyle pouted, folding his arms across his chest.

"You have to come." Kenny stuck his nose up in the air, "There's no arguing about it. This is going to be the best party all year and you're coming."

"But we have this project and I have a paper in AP Biology due, plus I have a physics test next Wednesday—" Kyle began wringing his hands together, his lips dipping into a worried frown.

"Oh come on dude!" Kenny frantically turned to me and Stan, "Come on guys, help me out here…"

Did I really give a shit about the party? Normally, no, I wouldn't. There wasn't too much to be gained from it except perhaps a few hours of drunken bliss, where I could distort my mind and simply stop _thinking_ for once. And of course with the party came the sluts; girls with titties popping out of their shirts and asses so perfectly round they swayed back and forth when they walked… Those sluts would all be drunk out of their mind at Token's. But for some reason the thought of possibly chasing some skank tail wasn't particularly appealing to me…not this time. This time a small whisper of an idea slithered into my mind, sneaking in and burrowing into my brain before I even had the chance to think twice about it. A picture entered my mind then, a pretty image of a drunken Kyle, his face flushed from alcohol, body arching backward, eyes closed in pure ecstasy…

I shifted where I sat on the bed, drawing up my knees towards my chest, the room suddenly feeling inexplicably hot. My face remained completely emotionless however, a mask that hid my thoughts perfectly.

"Are you really sure you don't want to go?" Stan looked into Kyle's eyes, his voice calm.

"I don't know…" Kyle groaned, leaning forward and burying his head into his hands, "Why does it matter so much?"

"You don't _have_ to drink." Stan grinned, "You can be my DD for the night—"

"Ha, yeah right!" Kyle snorted, sitting up and rolling his eyes, "Every time you say that I end up drinking anyway because all three of you gang up on me and force me to!"

"Yeah so…you should just save us the trouble and come to the party and drink until your face melts off." Kenny replied easily.

"What does that even mean?" Kyle asked, his voice tired, wavering.

"It means you're coming to the party and you're drinking until I say stop." Kenny smirked in response.

"I might as well call ahead and book a bed at the hospital…" Kyle grumbled under his breath, causing Stan to smile widely.

"So you're going then?" Stan eagerly asked, unable to hide his relief.

"Yeah, yeah…of course I am." Kyle smiled back at him, and it was at this point that I looked away, unable to stomach one of their wordless, eye to eye moments.

To the others, I'm sure I appeared almost indifferent to this party.

But that couldn't have been less true.

No, I was looking forward to this party far more than any of them could have possibly realized.

I've always been called a schemer, and it was time to live up to that name.


	5. Didn't Leave Nobody but the Baby

_(Kyle)_

_(You and me and the devil makes three)_

The rest of the week went by in a flash. Everyone else claimed it was dragging on; maybe because they were all so excited for the party. But to me it couldn't have gone by any faster, and I probably felt that way because, for some reason, every time I thought about the party I got this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, like my intestines were being knotted around themselves. I don't know why I was getting so worked up over this party…I mean, Token's parties are always such a huge thing here since he's so filthy rich, but I never really give them a second thought. I normally just show up and have a good time like anyone else. This time…this time, however, I couldn't stop _worrying_ about the damn thing. It had nothing to do with the girls; I already know most of the girls at the high school, and they were a pretty boring bunch. Maybe I was just concerned because I knew Kenny was going to force me to drink until I dropped…and god knows, that would probably end up being a huge mistake. Stan and Cartman drink a lot, but they can hold their alcohol a whole hell of a lot better than I can. I tend to do really stupid things after a few rounds, and Kenny loves hanging with me when I drink, so he always ends up throwing back shot after shot after shot until he's finally at my level (which, him being Kenny and all, usually takes him like fifteen shots).

So late Friday evening I found myself standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, meticulously inspecting my reflection.

In the past twenty minutes I'd tried on four shirts—and all of them had ended up being tossed to the carpet. Finally I ended up yanking my dresser drawer open and grabbing the first thing I saw: a long sleeved, gray striped shirt that I didn't normally wear because I thought it was a little too tight. But as I tugged it on and turned towards the mirror, I thought the way it was stretched across my chest and clinging to my hips was probably entirely appropriate for this party. Turning around and glancing over my shoulder, I decided that the dark jeans I had thrown on were perfect. I'm normally not too concerned with fashion, but I do like to look nice and I knew that everyone else would be trying to look their best too.

A loud honking noise sounded out, and I hurriedly threw on a black jacket, turning to race out of my room. Skidding around a corner, I jogged down the stairs, reaching up with a hand to try and smooth down some of my scarlet hair. It was a futile effort; even as I tried to force the wild pieces to stay down they just sprang back up, sticking out in every direction. I had cut it down short once I started swimming to try and tame it a bit, but it was still a mess.

"Mom!" I cried out loudly as I swiped my wallet off the kitchen counter, "I'm staying the night at Stan's!"

She said something in affirmation, adding on something to the end, but I just called out that I loved her and ran out the door. If I stuck around too long she'd try to give me a speech about not drinking and not having unprotected sex.

As if anything she could say might change my mind about that.

As soon as I stepped outside I was nearly blinded by the bright whiteness of the headlights of Stan's Camry. Throwing my hood over my head, I ran around to the passenger door, pulling it open effortlessly.

"Hey dude." Stan smiled at me in greeting as I slid into the passenger seat, slamming the car door shut.

"Where's Kenny and Cartman?" I asked, turning to look at the surprisingly empty back seat.

"They headed over there like an hour ago." Stan replied, placing his arm on the back of my seat as he turned around, looking out of the rear windshield as he backed out of my driveway.

"Great," I chuckled to myself, "That means they'll already be toasted by the time we get there."

"Not my problem." Stan smirked, putting the car into drive as pulling forward.

Thankfully Token's house really wasn't that far from mine. Within ten minutes we were parking down the crowded street and stepping out of the car. It was only then that I happened to peek out of the corner of my eye, furtively glancing over my best friend. Stan had a wide grin on his face as he climbed out of the car, the muscles in his arms flexing as he hauled himself to his feet. Shutting the car door, he turned towards me, giving me a wink. I smiled back at him and stuffed my hands into my pockets as we turned and began walking towards Token's house, our shoes scraping across the asphalt of the neighborhood road. We walked shoulder to shoulder, the black fabric of my jacket rubbing against the arm of his own dark green hoodie. He looked nice tonight, I'd definitely have to say. Then again, Stan always looked good…and that wasn't just me being a nice friend. He had those classic good looks that anyone would expect from the high school quarterback, with straight black hair and dark blue eyes that were such a different shade from Kenny's pale, icy eyes. He was tall, like three (or four, as he liked to claim) inches taller than me, something he would never let me live down. But he was really just a much bigger guy then I was. I did so much cardio that I was definitely on the slim side, even if the swim team had given me a lot of muscle that wasn't there before. Stan, on the other hand, had a weightlifting class during school _plus _football practice at least four days a week.

Let's just say the size of his biceps made it pretty clear that he spent hours a day working out.

Even as we approached Token's house (mansion, more like) I couldn't help but notice the hard curve of his shoulders.

I suddenly shot my eyes down to the sidewalk, my face turning hot.

When the hell did I suddenly become so preoccupied with Stan's muscles?

As we came up to the enormous front yard, a couple of the other football players cheered out a greeting to their quarterback, rushing up to us, beers held high in their hands. Their eyes were all already glazed over with alcohol, and they were stumbling as they walked towards us. They all looked friendly those, and I was pleasantly surprised when one of the boys—I think he was a wide receiver—even reached out and shook my hand, greeting me by name. I was a little flustered by that, but I reached out and gladly shook hands with him, smiling as best as I could. Even if I wasn't tight with Stan's teammates, I didn't want them to think his best friend was an asshole… I'd had to make Stan look bad. The guys quickly surrounded my best friend, bombarding him with high fives, handshakes, and those weird guy hugs that involve a half hand shake and a pound on the back.

I pulled away from the group, slinking into the background, my hands still buried in my pockets. Stan began chatting with his friends, laughing and smiling as one immediately launched into a story about some girl who was already puking in a bush. Stan laughed at all the right parts, but I could see his sapphire eyes looking directly past his friend…looking right at me. I don't know why, but knowing that I would always be closer to Stan then any of those dumb jocks could imagine made me feel incredibly giddy. I had to bite back a smile as Stan clapped some blonde guy on the back, pushing past his football buddies and approaching me.

I could see one of them roll their eyes, but the wide receiver—the one who actually knew my name—pushed the group away, giving me and Stan some room to ourselves.

I made a mental note to try and get to know that guy. Barely two minutes since arriving at the party and I already liked him.

"You good?" Stan was looking down at me with that worried expression I swear he saved just for me.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I shrugged, even though my hands were still confined to my jacket pockets.

"The guys want me to play a few rounds of beer pong with them in the backyard." Stan gave me a small apologetic grin, "Do you want to be my partner?"

I hate beer, and Stan knew this very well. I would've sucked it up though and put up with it if Stan really wanted me too, but I knew he was just asking me to be polite.

"Nah, you know how much I hate beer." I shook my head, forcing a smile, "You go ahead."

"Are you sure?" Stan frowned, "It doesn't matter. I can tell them all to go fuck off…"

He'd do that for me, I knew. But I didn't want to be that guy that stopped the star player form hanging with his team. Besides, it'd be kind of a dick move for me to hog Stan to myself…even if I'd love to see him blow off his teammates for me.

"No, go ahead and go with them." I repeated with a little more conviction, "They're your teammates, they'd be pissed if you didn't hang with them."

"So?" Stan scoffed, tilting his head up and looking down at me arrogantly, "Who cares if they're my teammates? _You're_ my best friend."

"Stan," I shook my head, closing my eyes, "I can totally survive without you for an hour or two."

"Yeah I know…" Stan said, taking a step closer to me and leaning forward, his voice lowering, "It's just I know you're not really into partying. I don't want you to have a shitty time…"

"I-it's cool." I don't know why my voice stumbled, "Look, I'll go look for Cartman and Kenny and hang out for them in a bit. When you're done with beer pong come find me and we can hang the rest of the night."

"Ok." Stan's face brightened as he relented, "Give me like an hour with the guys and then I'll come get you."

"Sounds good." I nodded in agreement.

"Great." Stan reached forward, and before I knew what was happening he pulled me against his chest in a tight hug. Normally I wouldn't care, I'd close my eyes and revel in the feeling of someone holding onto me like I was actually important to them. But—as Stan's arms wrapped around me—I could see his teammates staring at us hard. I blushed brightly but couldn't bring myself to pull away. Most of the people at the school knew about me and Stan's friendship, knew that it wasn't really like any other friendship they'd ever seen, but the stares the football players were giving me made it very clear that they found our relationship perplexing—if they even knew what that word meant.

"Don't get into any trouble." Stan said quietly as he pulled away.

"You don't need to worry about me." I laughed, taking a step backwards.

"Yeah, yeah." Stan rolled his eyes, turning towards his friends, "That's what you always say."

I turned and began walking towards the door, cringing as I passed a girl kneeling in the grass, retching horrible off-white liquid into a perfectly trimmed bush.

Wrapping my hand around the crystal doorknob, I pushed Token's front door open, walking in and shutting it casually behind me. As soon as I entered my senses were completely assaulted. The stench of alcohol, so pungent it was almost painful, wafted through the air, nearly burning my nostrils. My ears vibrated from the heavy bass drop of some kind of house music, a mixture of techno and maybe some dubstep. Either way, it had a sexy beat, the kind that—in an hour or so, after I'd taken a few shots—would make me want to jump up and start thrusting my hips in synchrony with someone. Token had gone all out, and I had to squint, shielding my face with my hand as my sensitive eyes tried to adjust. The lighting was dim, dark even, with the exception of a few strobe lights (pulsing like a heartbeat, making all movement appear jerky) and some swirling, bright purple, orange, green and red lights that made neat diamond and circle designs across the walls and floor. The strobe light effect was trippy as hell, and combined with the tiny patterns of all the other colors it was downright mesmerizing—almost like I'd stepped off into an entirely different plane of existence.

It was pretty damn cool, I had to admit.

Oh, and there were people—_a lot_ of people.

There was a large crowd standing in the living—the makeshift dance floor, I realized as I noticed that the leather sofa and chair and glass coffee table that normally took residence in that room were nowhere to be seen. A sound system was set up, with speakers lining both that room and the dining room and kitchen, both not far away. The mass of people standing in the carpet of the living room were swaying in time with the music, their knot of bodies so closely intertwined with each other it was difficult to tell where one person ended and another began. None of them really noticed me as I entered, which wasn't all that surprising. The girls were in to the music, and the guys were in to the girls. In both cases their attentions were directed elsewhere, so I had little trouble pushing past the group to make my way to the hallway. Even there the music was so loud it was making the framed pictures on the walls shake. If it were me I would've been worried sick about one of the pictures falling and breaking…and that's probably why I never hosted parties at my house.

Some people were standing in the hallway—Clyde and a few girls I didn't recognize, so they must've been from North Park, or somewhere else nearby.

I walked past them without stopping, my eyes scanning the enormous, luxurious house in search of my other best friend and the fatass that I was forced to tolerate. Sometimes I feel bad when I call Cartman fat now—I mean, he's not really obese anymore, just kind of thick. But usually right around the time my conscious starts getting to me he makes a crack about me being a thrifty, beady eyed Jew runt…and its pretty easy to call him fat after that.

"Kyle!"

I turned to my left to see a pretty big group standing around in what Token's parents called the 'game room'. They had both a pool table and an air hockey table in there, and I could see a lot of people crowding around the games, cheering on the guys playing and sipping out of the red Solo cups in their hands.

As soon as I saw who called out my name, I couldn't help but break into a genuine smile.

Wendy Testaburger was one of the few people in South Park that I legitimately really liked.

She was standing by the pool table, a pool stick in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. Her face lit up as we made contact, and I beamed at her as she handed off her pool stick to a blonde basketball player standing next to her. He pouted in defeat, but then turned around and began playing anyway. Wendy turned and immediately began strutting towards me, her heels clacking against the tile floor of the hallway as she drew closer.

"Kyle!" She gave me a dazzling smile, leaning forward and pecking me on each cheek with lips that were sticky with vanilla-scented lip gloss.

She pulled away slightly after kissing my cheeks, still smiling brightly. She looked absolutely amazing, with a thin, pale pink sleeveless top combined with a tight black skirt. Her long, straight black hair was loose and hanging down across her back, and her makeup was pretty light compared to the circus clowns I usually see at these kind of parties.

"Hey Wendy." I leaned close to her so that I was speaking into her ear, knowing that it'd be next to impossible for her to hear me over the music if I spoke normally, "You look beautiful."

"Really? You think so?" Wendy blushed lightly, wringing her hands together, "I don't know…Bebe picked out my outfit and I thought it was a little much for me. I mean, you know I don't really dress up that much…"

It's funny, Wendy was one of the most confident, strong people I knew, but the only time I ever saw her vulnerable was at parties like this, where somehow Bebe managed to convince her to dress up like all the other girls. It was obvious she wasn't really all that comfortable prancing around in heels and a tight skirt, but she pulled it off so well it was probably a good thing she didn't do it too often.

"Really." I repeated, my mouth close to her ear, "You look great. Bebe really did a good job!"

"Yeah well, you know her." Wendy giggled cutely, "She loves dressing me up like some kind of doll. I think whenever she can't decide between two outfits she just has me wear one of them that way neither goes to waste."

"Is she around?" I looked over Wendy's shoulder, peering into the game room.

"Yeah she's over trying to score with Brydon—you know, that basketball player that everyone loves?" Wendy turned, pointing into the room with her free hand, gold-painted nails glittering in the light, "They're over there playing air hockey."

As soon as she pointed I saw them, and Bebe raised her hand, waving vigorously, a wide smile on her face. I could see why: that Brydon guy had one arm wrapped around her waist, clinging to the baby blue fabric of the tiny dress she was wearing. I waved back at her, returning her friendly smile. Even if she was a little ditzy, I liked Bebe. She was always pretty nice to me…whether that was out of respect for me and Wendy's friendship or because she actually liked me, I didn't know. But I still appreciated the effort.

"Where's Stan?" Wendy tilted her head to the side, looking up at me questioningly.

When they first broke up two years ago, our sophomore year, things had been pretty ugly. But that only lasted a few months or so, and my super best friend and his ex had been good friends for a while now, so I saw no harm in telling her the truth.

"He's out back playing beer pong with the rest of the football team." I replied, jerking my thumb towards the back end of the mansion.

"Oh, ok." Wendy pursed her lips somewhat, making her opinion of the football team very clear.

"So what're you drinking?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Corona." Wendy tilted her head back, laughing prettily, "Only Token would provide us with Corona and not Natty Ice like everyone else."

"Hey, it all sucks to me." I shook my head, "I hate beer."

"Yeah I know." Wendy frowned disapprovingly, "You only ever drink that hard stuff. So what're you up to anyway? Why aren't you drinking yet?"

"Actually I was looking for Cartman and Kenny." I turned so I was looking into her dark eyes, "Any idea where they're at? Kenny wanted me to drink with him…"

"Oh of course he did." Wendy shook her head, black hair swishing, "They're in the kitchen."

"Ok thanks!" I turned around, "I'll catch you later!"

"Alright, see you!" Wendy called back before turning and heading back into the game room, no doubt to join back with Bebe.

I walked down the rest of the hallway pretty quickly, passing by two guys that were so drunk already that one was sitting on the floor, trying to take his pants off while the other clumsily tried to stop him. I strolled right past them, turning to my left to where I knew Token's enormous kitchen was. Speaking of the party host, I was surprised I hadn't seen him yet, but (him being Token) he was probably off already screwing with two girls at the same time. I entered the kitchen, my eyes quickly glancing over the entire room. It was large, with a bar that was open to the living room, allowing the bumping music to pulsate throughout the kitchen. The stainless steel appliances and marble countertops probably cost as much as my entire house, but I paid those small details little attention. No, the first thing I saw was the bright orange fabric of Kenny's ratty hoodie. He was standing with his back to me, but Cartman was facing in front of him, and so it was him who saw me first.

"Kahl!" Cartman grabbed Kenny by the shoulder, turning him around forcefully, "Get the fuck over here! You're late!"

I was surprised that Cartman seemed actually happy to see me, but I chalked it up to drinking. His face was already flushed slightly, and he had that gleam in his eye like he'd probably already done a few shots with Kenny.

"It's about damn time dude!" Kenny's icy eyes lit up as soon as he saw me, "Come on! We were just about to do some tequila shots!"

My blonde friend looked about the same as always: he was wearing his orange parka with the hood pulling over his shaggy blonde hair even though we were inside. Like usually his jeans were a bit faded, and he looked a lot skinnier then he shoulder have, but Kenny's pale eyes were so bright with excitement I couldn't help but smile at him as I approached. Now, Cartman, on the other hand…I had to do a double take as I got closer. The red shirt he was wearing was a button down, and the way his sleeves were rolled up revealed the thick arm muscles he usually hid under a jacket. The dark jeans he was wearing were more fitted than normal, revealing a slimmer waist then our fat friend had ever previously possessed. He brown hair—normally kind of a mess like mine—seemed to actually have had a comb ran through it for once. And, to top it all off, Cartman was actually sort of, kind of smiling at me when I walked over. I was used to seeing this person only smile when someone was suffering, so it was a bit unnerving, but again I attributed it to the booze. Clearly he and Kenny had started without me.

"What've you guys been up to?" I asked as I stood in front of them.

"Waiting on _you_." Cartman scoffed, folding his arms across his wide chest, "What the hell took you so long to find us?"

"Chill," I shrugged, "I just got here a second ago."

"Well it's about time. Come on, we have to hurry up and catch up with the rest of the people here!" Kenny exclaimed gleefully, turning and facing the counter.

He pulled away three shot glasses, placing them in a neat line in front of himself. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hand around the neck of a tall bottle that was filled with a crystalline-clear liquid. He popped the top off of it easily, tipping the bottle over and filling the three shot glasses like a seasoned bartender.

"Alright," Kenny set the bottle to the side, "Let's do this."

"What is again?" I reached forward, my fingers wrapping around the glass, lifting the tiny thing up in the air so I could peer at the ominous liquid with a suspicious eye.

"Tequila." Cartman answered, reaching forward and picking up his own glass, "Why? You worried you won't be able to handle it Kahl?"

"No." I answered defiantly, glaring at Cartman, "I just didn't want to be surprised."

"Ok, on the count of three," Kenny held his glass towards the middle of our human triangle, "One…two…three!"

We all three clanked our glasses together before tilting our heads back, throwing the liquid down our throats. The tequila practically burned my esophagus on the way down, but it was pretty good quality and I was able to swallow it all in one easy gulp. Wiping the corner of my mouth with my free hand, I slammed the shot glass back down onto the counter, not even flinching from the alcohol. I liked tequila a little more than some other stuff, so I was glad to be drinking that as opposed to…say, vodka. Ew.

"God damn that's good!" Kenny smiled in pleasure as he placed his shot glass down next to mine, "Time for another!"

"Already?" I cocked an eyebrow as I stared at Kenny, wondering if it was his mission to give me liver failure before age thirty.

"Oh don't be a bitch Kahl." Cartman scolded, "We only get to party this hard once in a rare while…so we need to make the best of this opportunity."

"Fine, fine." I groaned, "Might as well go hard or not go at all."

"Hell yeah." Kenny pumped a fist in the air, "I like your thinking!"

And so began the night.

Over the next hour Kenny, Cartman and I threw back shot after shot after shot. We started with tequila, but after a while Kenny loudly proclaimed that we needed to experiment, and we did a quick shot of whiskey. It was a weird brand (probably some expensive shit Token's parents bought) and none of us really liked it much, so sometime after shot number four we found ourselves running to an old favorite: Captain Morgan. All of us liked rum, so once we started drinking that we began to pick up the pace. The more and more the alcohol got to our brains the more talkative we became: Kenny started loudly proclaiming how much he hated his art teacher ("How the fuck does that bitch expect me to pay for expensive, stupid drawing pencils? Fuck that—I told her I'd draw with a number two pencil and she'd have to deal with it!"), Cartman started bitching about his mom ("I came home last night and she was serving the guy dinner! I mean, can you fucking believe that? She was giving _my_ food to some asshole who just wanted to bone her! I mean what the fuck, dude?), and eventually I found myself going on and on about swim team ("I swear to god I'm going I'm going to beat bitches asses left and right at State's this year! You guys need to come watch so I have people to celebrate with when I break my record!").

I think we went on like that for maybe an hour, I really don't know. It's hard to tell time when you're drinking shots like their water.

"Alright guys, this is getting old." Cartman indicated towards the bottle of Captain.

"Well what else do you wanna drink?" Kenny's words were slurring together as he spoke.

"I'll make us some mixed drinks." Cartman offered, turning around and heading towards the fridge.

"Mixed drinks?" Kenny sneered, wobbling on his feet, "Mixed drinks are for chicks! Come on, let's keep doing shots."

"If we keep doing shots then we'll end up on the floor within the next twenty minutes." Cartman rolled his eyes, his voice sharp, "Let's just make some drinks that way we can actually party all night."

"Cartman's right," My voice was slurring even worse than Kenny's as I spoke, "Let's make some drinks."

"I got it." Cartman began searching through the fridge, yanking out a carton of some kind of fruit juice.

"What're you going to make us?" Kenny asked, leaning his back against the marble counter.

"I don't know." Cartman didn't turn to face us as he spoke, "Something special. Don't worry, I'll make up something good."

"Yeah you better." Kenny stuttered, his voice threatening, "You better make it taste good."

"Don't worry." Cartman turned around, shooting us both a smile, "I'll make something _delicious_ for you guys."

* * *

><p><strong>If you're reading please review! I'd really like to know what you guys think of the story so far!<strong>


	6. Alive

_(Kyle)_

_(I'm feeling strange in the night_

_I'm in myself, I feel I'm thrown into a fight_

_Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide nothin's right)_

Oh _shit_.

Something was wrong. I was still standing in the kitchen—I think. There was tile beneath my feet, an intricate diamond and square pattern, and I was leaning against something flat and hard that was swirled with gray and black coloring. A marble countertop? It was cold, very cold against my back. I'd take my jacket off a long time ago, casting it to the tile floor near the refrigerator, so the counter was pressed up against the thin, long sleeved shirt I was wearing. I shivered slightly, feeling goosebumps flare across my back, but at the same time my face felt like it was on fire. I reached up with my free hand, placing my fingers against my cheek. The skin on my fingertips felt eerily cold, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of fear as I felt the burning on my face. I was so cold and so hot at the same time; it was like being torn in two. My whole body felt strange, actually. Like my eyes could see the room around me, the oven, the stovetop, the lights that were hanging from the ceiling; but my arms and legs didn't feel like they were there. They felt heavy, uselessly hanging off my body, awkward and clumsy.

"G-guys…" I leaned back against the counter, so far that my back was arching, hips pushed forward, "I d-don't feel so good…"

Kenny was sitting on the floor, his back leaned against the dark wooden cabinets. He was shirtless, skinny chest open for everyone to see, but he'd managed to keep his ratty jeans on. Kenny's eyes were glassed over, the normally sky blue color looking almost a dull gray. He was wrapping his arms around his torso, squeezing himself, maybe trying to stay warm? I couldn't tell…his eyes looked so far away I didn't know if he even realized I was in the same room as him.

"Kenny? Are you…are you ok?" I tried to focus my eyes on him, but it was difficult. His yellow hair was blurring into the colors of the cabinets, making it hard to tell where the boy ended and the wood began.

"He's fine." Cartman scoffed, "He just needs to stand up and walk off the alcohol some."

I looked up at my sometimes-friend, and it was like my eyes weren't communicating with my brain correctly. Cartman looked huge—not fat, just _big_, like a giant. He was standing with his back against the marble counter, thick arms folded across his wide chest. The fabric of his red shirt was stretched tightly against his body, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was going to rip himself out of it, flexing his arms and chest so much that he'd turn into a Hulk-like monster. His face was blurry to me—I could make out his chocolate colored eyes. Dog eyes, I once called them. It was fitting; they were a rich brown, and filled with the sort of attention and cunning that a lupine creature would possess. Cartman had, at the time, taken it as an insult…though, I hadn't meant it that way. Actually, half the time Cartman thought I was speaking cruelly of him, I was actually just making an observation, speaking my mind about something I'd seen.

"Come on Kenny." Cartman stepped forward, offering a hand to our friend, "You need to get up. The longer you sit down the worse you'll feel."

"I'm fine." Kenny murmured, but his words were so slurred he might as well have hissed like a cat.

"N-no…" I shook my head, "You should get up, you l-look like shit."

My voice was unsteady, like my tongue had been cut down the middle.

Kenny looked up at me, a mischievous gleam sharpening his cloudy eyes.

"_You_ don't look like shit." The blonde flicked out his tongue in an obscene gesture, "You look good Kyle…"

Was Kenny hitting on me? I wasn't really surprised…he pretty much slept with anything that had a pulse. Normally I'd blush and tell him to stop kidding around, but this time I couldn't help but feel…_flattered_. And the way Kenny was smiling up at me, his light eyes scanning me up and down… He looked cute sitting on the floor, his eyes full of tricks… The ground was swaying, waving like the ocean, and I had to lean back, placing an arm on the counter to steady myself. Even Kenny himself seemed to be vibrating, like nothing in the damn kitchen could stay still…

I wanted to sit down next to him. I wanted to grab myself by the hair and shake my head until everything stopped moving.

"Ok, you guys have had way too much." Cartman grabbed Kenny by the arm, hauling the blonde to his feet.

"Nah…we're just getting started…" Kenny protested, lips breaking into a smile as he stumbled, barely catching himself in time to stop from falling.

"No…C-Cartman's right." My lips were moving slower than my brain, making my words swim, "I don't f-feel good…"

My body felt so heavy, like someone had tied weights to my hands and feet.

"You guys are fuckin' lame." Kenny snorted, "I'm going to go find someone drunk enough to actually sleep with me."

My head felt slow, and by the time I processed what he had said, Kenny was already walking towards the hallway.

"Don't wait up for me in the morning," Kenny laughed as he glanced over his shoulder, "I'll be in someone's bed."

I reached up with my hand, rubbing my forehead, trying to clear my mind. It didn't work. As Kenny disappeared, the entire room seemed to sway in time with the music that was still making the walls shake. I stuck out my arms, trying to find some balance, but after a moment I found myself leaning to far to the left, and then my head spun in confusion as I felt gravity wrap itself around me. I would've tumbled to the tile, but I felt a firm arm reach out, a hand wrapping around my bicep. I did fall, but it wasn't against the tile, no. I felt my back hit something softer, but incredibly solid, and then I was leaning against a warm body. My entire back was placed against a wide chest, my head resting against someone's collarbone, and then I looked up with drunk, confused green eyes.

"You've drank too much stupid." Cartman led me over to the other side of the kitchen's bar, where there were a few bar stools placed. He helped me onto a stool with more tenderness then I would've ever thought the Nazi was capable of.

"I d-didn't…I didn't…" My mind was both racing and sluggish at the same time. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't drank that much, that'd I'd done shots like this before, that'd I'd never felt so fucked up in my entire life…

What was wrong with me?

"You should go lie down Kahl." Cartman's voice was smooth in my ear.

"I need…I should g-go home…" I said, biting my bottom lip.

I was starting to feel scared. Never before had I felt so messed up from alcohol before… I'd been drunk, been to the point where all my body could do was vomit up the alcohol I had consumed, and this wasn't like that. Now I felt like my eyes weren't seeing correctly, like I couldn't trust them at all. Everything was moving in my vision, and the colors were so bright that it hurt to look at some things. But the worst part was my hands. It was like they had become super sensitive: the counter had felt like a block of ice under my fingers, and Cartman's body had felt so strong when I leaned against him… When I had placed my hand against his chest, helping myself into the bar stool, the fabric of his shirt alone had been enticing, like the smoothest, softest thing I had ever touched.

My eyes and hands were betraying me, tricking my mind. What could I do if I couldn't even trust my own body?

"Token said we could take rooms upstairs." Cartman was using that voice. He didn't know it, but I had come to recognize that voice a long, long time ago.

He was trying to persuade me towards…something. Maybe if I was sober I could've figure out what he wanted.

"N-no…" I shook my head vigorously, making everything spin even more, "I should go h-home."

"You can't drive. And it's too far to walk." Cartman's voice was both logical and patient.

I hated it when he used that voice on me.

"Let me take you upstairs. I'll help you get a room to sleep in." Cartman's face was blurry to me. I could barely make out the brown spots that were his eyes, and the curved line of his mouth was hard to follow. Was he smiling at me?

Cartman placed his hand on my bicep again as he spoke, leaning in close to me, "You're really drunk Kahl. I'll just help you upstairs so you can get to sleep."

He was standing so close to me now. I don't think I've ever found myself this close to Cartman before… I was sitting on the bar stool, leaning forward. He was standing between my open legs, his chest only a few inches away from my head. Even when I was sitting down on the high stool he was so much taller than me. And then there was his hand on my arm, fingers placed against the thin fabric of my striped shirt…were they moving? Were his fingers tracing the length of my bicep? That seemed important somehow, but my muddled brain couldn't really figure out why.

"Y-you're being really nice to me." The words came out of my mouth like an accusation.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Cartman was looking down at me with an amused smile, as if I'd said something very silly.

"No. It's just…I d-don't know." I gulped thickly, realizing how foolish my words were, "You're just never nice to me. You hate me."

"Oh, I assure you Kahl, I don't hate you at all." Cartman actually chuckled at that, "We have our disagreements, yes, but I don't _hate_ you."

"Oh…ok." My voice was still full of suspicion.

"Maybe I _want_ to be nice to you, Kahl." Cartman's response was fluid, very smooth…and for some reason that bothered me. There was some small detail that was making me feel very cautious, something that just didn't make sense, didn't fit in…

"I…w-where's Stan?" I asked, looking away from Cartman.

His grip on my bicep tightened.

"Now…why does that matter, Kahl?" Cartman's voice had an edge to it, like it was taking considerable effort for him to control himself.

"I…I want to find S-Stan." I stuttered, still avoiding his glare.

"He ditched you to hang out with his jock friends, remember?" Cartman snapped. He was staring at me real hard now, almost like he was angry with me.

"N-no, it wasn't like that." I was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable. Cartman was still standing so close to me I could smell the scent of Axe body wash radiating off his body, and his glare was growing more and more heated with every passing second.

"He's not your fucking mommy Kahl." Cartman spat, his words full of venom, "You can live without him for one god damn night."

"W-why are you getting mad at me?" I asked, unable to hide my confusion.

I didn't know why he was getting angry, but it was obvious he was. His grip on my arm was so tight now it was actually beginning to hurt, and I shifted uncomfortably under his touch. I had known this boy since childhood, and I knew the signs of danger…

"Look, I gotta…I gotta go…" I placed my arms on Cartman's chest, weakly pushing him away as I slid off the stool, standing up on shaky feet.

"How very typical, Kahl." Cartman's voice took on a nasty, mocking tone as he stepped away from me, "Going to go running to your owner like the little Jew dog you are…I should've expected this."

All kindness had disappeared, and Cartman was glaring down at me with the contempt I was used to. He was red in the face, and his fists had clenched into white-knuckled fists. I could barely coordinate my legs well enough to put one in front of the other, but I knew I needed to get out of there. If Cartman was gearing up for a fight, then I'd be in some real trouble. I could barely function enough to walk; if Cartman decided to start smacking me around I doubt I'd be able to do anything but shield my face.

"I…I'm sorry." I didn't know why I was apologizing to him, maybe because hidden in his eyes was a small amount of hurt.

I didn't know what to think about that.

I didn't _want_ to think about that at all.

I pushed past Cartman, heading towards the hallway. I didn't even turn to look at him as I left, not wanting to see how lonely he looked, standing all by himself in the middle of the kitchen, staring me down with fuming eyes.

As I disappeared, I thought I heard the sound of something shattering, but I did my best to ignore that.

* * *

><p><em>(Stan)<em>

_(Hard to say what got my attention_

_Fixed and crazy, aphid attraction)_

"Can we get the cups re-racked?" I called down to the other end of the table. There triangle we had started with had disintegrated into a spotting of island cups—not a good formation for beer pong.

"Yeah, yeah." My team's safety, a blonde senior called Allen was on the opposite side of the beer pong table, calling back at me.

"What shape do you want?" Allen continued, yelling loudly over all the noise from the party.

I shrugged, turning to my left to look at my BP partner: Thomas, our team's wide receiver. He was a tall black junior with skin that was richly dark. What with me being the quarterback and him being the team's starting wide receiver, he and I were pretty close. We had to be, our team wouldn't be so damn good if we weren't.

"Give us a parallelogram." Thomas nodded toward Allen and his partner (a big linebacker who'd just started this season).

"A what?" Allen cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

"I said a parallelogram." Thomas yelled back, placing his hands on his hips, "Ain't you ever heard of a god damn parallelogram? You know, with two pairs of sides that are parallel to each other and equal in length to each other—"

"I know what a parallelogram is!" Allen rolled his eyes, reaching forward and grabbing the red solo cups with his hands, "I just don't know why the hell you want us to rack the cups like a parallelogram…"

"Hey!" Thomas shook his fist in the air as Allen shaped the cups, "That's a fucking rhombus! I said I wanted a parallelogram and—"

"A rhombus _is_ a parallelogram, dumbass!" Allen laughed at him, standing back and crossing his arms after he finished arranging the cups, "You didn't specify what kind of parallelogram you wanted, so you're getting a rhombus."

"He's right you know." I chuckled, holding up my beer and taking a sip just as Thomas was about to open his mouth and fire back, "Who the hell cares anyway? We're kicking ass."

It was true, Thomas and I hadn't lost a game since we started over two hours ago. We'd faced pretty much the entire football team, and everyone had fallen to us. Allen and the linebacker—Stephen—were the last two to go. For months Thomas had been raving about how he wanted the two of us to beat out the entire team at BP, and it looked like that was finally going to happen. Allen and Stephen hadn't sunk a single cup yet, and it'd be damn perfect to finish our winning streak by having them do a naked mile.

The beer pong table was set up in the neatly trimmed grass of Token's back yard—a smart idea since, as the night went on, more and more beer was being spilled. At first it had started out with just the starting team surrounding the single table, but as time passed we were gradually joined by everyone else. By this time a lot of guys were clutching girls at their sides—or at least, the ones that were still standing had girls. A lot of the football players had disappeared to the side of the house, puking into the manicured bushes. A couple others had gone back inside to pass out for the night, and the remaining were either dancing or watching Thomas and I dominate. It'd been a real good night; we had done so well at BP that I was barely drunk, but definitely a ways past tipsy. The music coming from the house was still bumping, and the strobe lights could still be seen flashing through the window, so it was my guess that the party was still raging in there too. The best part was that Token had provided us with Corona, which was considerably better tasting then the beer most of these high school parties had—Natty Ice.

I gripped an orange ping pong ball between my thumb and forefinger, holding it up expertly. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to focus as hard as I could on the parallelogram of plastic cups in front of me. Popping my arm out, I tossed the ping pong ball like a basketball player shooting a free throw, arching it into the air.

It sunk into a cup perfectly, splashing out a small drop of water onto the black table.

"Oh hell yeah!" Thomas pumped a fist into the air, his dark eyes gleaming, "That's my boy! Take a drink bitches!"

Allen and Stephen both grudgingly held up their bottles of Corona, tossing back the beer easily.

There were jeers and cheers coming from the other players watching us, some of them laughing at how badly Allen and Stephen were doing. The others were shouting out encouragement to them, a few disgruntled losers eager to see Thomas and I finally lose a game—not that that was going to happen.

"Hey Stan, isn't that your friend Kyle?" Thomas nudged my arm with his elbow, using his beer bottle to point towards the house.

I turned where he was indicating, my eyes scanning the area for my super best friend.

Thanks to his vibrant hair, he was always pretty easy to pick out.

Kyle was walking towards the beer pong table, his eyes nervously shifting from right to left. He looked severely shaken, his face flushed and lips set into a distinct from. He'd lost his jacket at some point I guess, because he was walking wards me in nothing but his dark jeans and gray striped shirt—a very thin shirt that couldn't possibly be keeping him warm in this weather. It was cold out, and a harsh wind had picked up, causing even me—in my thick, green jacket—to shiver a little. How the hell could Kyle even bear to walk outside with nothing but a shirt and pants on?

"Hey…he doesn't look so good…" Thomas's eyes glanced at me warily.

"No…no he doesn't." I set my beer on the pong table before hurriedly turning back to Kyle.

My sneaker stomped into the grass as I jogged towards him, a feeling of surprise and fear settling in my gut. The closer I got to Kyle the worse he appeared to look. His cheeks were red but the areas around his eyes and neck appeared pale. His normally emerald eyes were a stormy, sickly green that I swore I'd never seen in my best friend before. On top of all that, he was stumbling so awkwardly it was amazing he even made it this far. There was a faraway look in his eyes too, like he wasn't really aware that he was walking—or at least, trying to walk—through Token's back yard.

"Kyle?" I stopped in front of him, placing both of my hands on his shoulders and forcing him to come to a halt.

"Stan?" The redhead looked at me with surprise, like he hadn't noticed me coming.

"Dude…are you ok?" Worry had weaved itself into my voice as I stared down at Kyle, forcing his eyes to meet my own.

"No…Stan, I don't feel too g-good…" Kyle shook his head slowly, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Did you drink too much?" I asked the next logical question.

"I…don't know." Kyle shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping, "My head's fucked up…"

"Do you feel sick to your stomach? Do you feel like you're going to pass out?" I could already feel the panic setting in. I didn't handle it very well when Kyle got sick.

"No…no, I d-don't think so…" Kyle shook his head again, closing his eyes like it was difficult to even do that simple task.

"Ok…ok." I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against my chest, "Come on, we're going inside."

"Hey!" Allen was shouting from over at the beer pong table, "Aren't you going to finish this game?"

"No, sorry." I yelled curtly back, even though I wasn't sorry at all, "Find someone to fill in for me."

"Why don't you just bring your friend over?" Allen responded, his voice sly.

I turned and look at my football teammates, still holding onto Kyle. Allen and a few others were staring at us…staring at _Kyle_ in a way that was…surprising. Allen had this smirk on his face like he'd caught me doing something I shouldn't be, but he also had this shine to his eyes…like he wanted in on it. A few of the others, the ones standing close to Allen I noticed, were also looking at Kyle in a way that made me bristle. Looking down at my friend, I suddenly understood why. The jeans he was wearing were clinging to his hips in a way that showed off the shape of his lower body quite well, and the striped shirt was tight enough to reveal a thin, alluring waist. My eyes shot back up to Allen, and I sent him a glare that was extremely threatening.

"Fuck off Allen." I growled, my hold on Kyle tightening as I pulled him closer to me.

The safety said something back in response, something that was scathingly insulting, but Thomas snarled something back at him to shut him up.

Whatever. I didn't give a shit about Allen or his damn friends, but the way they had looked at Kyle…

I wouldn't let them anywhere near him.

Tugging my friend along, we marched back towards the house. Kyle was tripping over his own feet every few moments, but he was light enough that I could hold him by his arms and pull him along pretty easily. As soon as we reached the house I yanked open one of the glass French doors, stepping inside and taking Kyle along with me. As soon as we stepped in the music practically burst my ear drums, making my ears throb against my head. We passed a few drunk girls that were puking into some potted plants, but they paid us no attention as I determinedly dragged Kyle towards the stairs. The strobe lights were making my drunk mind even slower, and I had to stare at the floor as we walked to keep my head from hurting as we passed through the pulsing lights. The dance floor was still packed with drunken bodies sliding against each other, but they too paid no mind to me and Kyle as we passed by. I had been looking around for Kenny or Butters or Wendy or…hell, even Cartman. I had hoped to find someone to help me with Kyle, but no such luck. Everyone I passed was either already way too drunk to help or completely unfamiliar to me. Either way, by the time we made it to Token's staircase Kyle had gotten worse. He was barely able to walk now, his legs stumbling like he had no control over them. The flushing in his cheeks had gone away, and now his face was completely, ghostly pale. I only hoped that he didn't get sick to his stomach. I hated puke, but I knew for Kyle that—no matter what happened—I'd help him through it.

When we got to the stairs, Kyle seemed to shake off some of whatever it was that was plaguing him. He was able to focus enough to put one foot above the other, and quickly we found ourselves slowly making our way towards the second floor of the house. Token's parents' mansion had over twelve extra bedrooms, and he always offered them to his closer friends whenever he had a party. He'd told me a long time ago that Kyle and I could crash here, and that was exactly why I decided to lead Kyle upstairs. He needed to lay down badly. As we reached the apex of the stairs, I turned Kyle towards the nearest door. I reached for the doorknob and pushed it open quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as we stepped in and I saw a modest full-sized bed in the center of the room. Quickly slamming the door behind us, I led my friend to the bed. As soon as we approached the mattress I gently lowered him down on the pale beige comforter.

"Kyle?" My voice was soft as I looked down at him, "How are you feeling?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side.

"I'm ok…I'm ok Stan." Kyle winced as he leaned back, his back hitting the mattress, "I just…my head's spinning…"

"Ok." I leaned forward so that I was hovering above him, "Do you think you're going to be ok? Do you want me to stay with you?"

The music from downstairs was muffled but still pretty loud, still thumping through the walls. I hadn't turned on a light when we walked in, and I could barely make out Kyle's small frame on the bed.

"Y-yes." My friend answered, "Just stay with me."

Something in the back of my mind told me it was a bad idea, but I soon found myself pulling off my jacket, crawling onto the bed.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! Unfortunately I have a trip this weekend, so no update until at least Monday or Tuesday.<strong>


	7. All Around Me

_(Kyle)_

_(Like fire, hellfire_

_This fire in my skin_

_This burning desire_

_Is turning me to sin)_

I felt like my skin was coated in ice.

"S-Stan…" I shivered a bit, tongue tripping over my words, "I'm so c-cold…"

I could barely see him next to me. He hadn't turned on a light when we walked into the room, and after shutting the door the darkness grew pretty thick. I could barely make out Stan's long frame lying on the mattress next to me, the outline of his face pointed in my direction. The pale comforter felt soft beneath my body, so soft that I felt like at any moment I was going to sink into it and disappear into the fabric. I was laying on my back, my shoulders quivering from the cold, and somehow my head had managed to find a pillow—a squishy, feathery thing. Token's parents probably spent more on this guest bed then my parent's car was worth when it was brand new…

"You're cold?" Stan's voice cut through the silence, slow and thick like was talking with syrup in his mouth.

"F-freezing." My entire body shuddered as I spoke, the muscles in my arms and legs giving particularly violent spasms.

Loud house music was still making the door vibrate in its frame, but I heard Stan's voice clearly as he spoke:

"Come here." It was more of a command then a request.

I felt Stan's fist clench the front of my shirt, and then he was pulling me onto my side, pulling me closer to him. I rolled off my back complacently, sliding across the comforter as best I could, but my legs and arms were moving sluggishly. I felt the bed rise and lower as Stan shifted across the mattress, his body growing closer to mine. His hand was still holding onto the front of my shirt, but then he let go, reaching around, his fingers suddenly moving onto my back. Then he was pulling me close against him, and my cheek was pressed against his chest, and two warm, strong arms were wrapped around my torso, holding me still. We lay like that a few moments, and I couldn't help but sigh in contentment at the body heat he was giving me. I shut my eyes after a few seconds, feeling the rise and fall of Stan's chest, pulling up my arms to tuck them between us in an effort to get warm.

"Kyle…you're burning up." Stan pulled away slightly, and even though I couldn't really see him, I could imagine the look of concern he was probably giving me.

"No." I shook my head, refusing to look up at his eyes.

"Yes, yes you are." Stan pulled away even more then, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. Yeah, this time I could make out his blue eyes even in the dark…he looked worried. Like I was telling him something that couldn't possibly be true.

"Stan I'm cold…" I protested, trying to scoot closer to him. It was perfect when he was laying with me, he was so warm and—even though my head was heavy and my eyes were tricking me—I wasn't worried when I was with him. I didn't care about anything…even though I knew there was a lot to be worried about. Kenny disappearing, me dragging Stan away from his football buddies, Cartman getting mad at me, Cartman trying to be nice to me, Cartman breaking a bottle when I left him…

"Come here." Stan's voice was softer this time.

He sat up, reaching out with his hands to pull me up as well. I groaned in protest, wanting to fight him and bury myself into the bed, but it wouldn't have mattered. Stan was stronger than me—and he wasn't afraid to prove that. Before I really knew what was happening, I felt fingertips brushing against the bottom of my stomach, right above the top of my jeans. Stan was kneeling in front of me, and then he lifted my shirt above my head, casting it to the carpet after a few quick tugs. I wanted to cry out in pain as I felt the air hit my bare chest, and immediately my skin rippled with goosebumps, but I bit my tongue in an effort to be quiet. I didn't want Stan to freak out and think I was really sick…even though I didn't really know what was wrong with me. Stan's hand was on my chest then, pushing me down so that I was laying on my back. I complied eagerly with that, dropping my head back down onto the pillow, the comforter feeling as soft as velvet against the skin on my back.

Then I felt fingers working the button on the front of my jeans.

"Wha—?" My eyes shot open in alarm, "What're you d-doing?"

"Taking your clothes off." Stan shrugged, his hands freezing over my zipper.

"But…I could've d-done that…" I was staring at him now, staring at his fingers placed lightly right over my groin.

"No." Stan shook his head, and I think he might've been grinning, "You're barely conscious. I'll undress you and then we can get under the blankets."

Oh. That made sense.

"Yeah…ok." I nodded, still unable to take my eyes off of him.

Stan's fingers worked quickly, unbuttoning my pants and then yanking the zipper down. He gripped my jeans by the hip pockets then, sliding them down over my legs. I tried to help him by kicking the fabric off, but it wasn't much use. He pulled my pants off easily, throwing them onto the ground right by my shirt. By that time I'd felt like I'd been dropped into the middle of the tundra, I was so damn cold. The dark boxers I was wearing were pretty thin, definitely not enough to protect me at all from the freezing air. Stan kneeled in front of me, and then he was pulling his own clothes off. First his shirt, and then his own jeans, both of which he threw to the floor as well. As soon as he peeled off his shirt I could make out the outline of his light skin, the muscles of his chest and abdomen casting shadows across his body. I could still hear the thumping music, but it seemed to have faded a lot…whether that was because the party was finally beginning to die down or because I was suddenly a lot more focused on what was happening in front of me, I couldn't tell. Either way, the noise didn't seem as distracting anymore.

Stan reached forward and grabbed the edges of the blankets. Pulling, he yanked the fabric out, opening up so that I could crawl under them.

"Thanks." My voice was muffled as I slid my body under the comfort. The blanket felt heavy against my body, almost smothering, but I enjoyed the sudden warmth so much I didn't care.

"Better?" Stan asked as he moved under the blanket next to me.

"A little." I nodded, wriggling my body so that I was buried even deeper under the sheets and comforter, "I can't s-stop shivering…"

"I can fix that." He sounded so sure of himself. But that was Stan, always so confident.

His arm reached out, easily wrapping around my waist, and then he pulled me against his body again. This time the skin of his bare chest was hot against my back, and his arms were encircling my waist, hands resting lazily on the mattress. He was so incredibly warm, I couldn't help but sight in contentment as he held me against his body.

"Better?" He asked again, lips moving against the back of my neck.

I shuddered in response, feeling a tingle shoot from my neck down to my toes.

"Am I tickling you?" Stan smiled, his voice teasing.

"A little." I admitted, "Quit m-messing with my neck!"

"Oh, have I found a sensitive spot?" Stan's grip on my waist tightened as he leaned forward, pressing his lips on the side of my neck, right behind my ear. I struggled against his hold, trying to pull away, and he laughed, holding me still. He flicked out his tongue then, just barely grazing my skin, and my whole body quivered like I'd been struck by lightning.

"Wow, you _are_ really ticklish there." My best friend finally, relented, pulling away. He sat up, propping himself up with one elbow, staring down at me with inquisitive eyes.

"Hey…you've been my super best friend for fifteen years." Stan said, still looking down at me.

"Yeah?" I nodded, not really sure where he was going with that statement.

"Well…why the hell didn't I know you were so ticklish there until now?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow into the air.

"I dunno…" My words weaved together, probably from the alcohol. Or something else maybe.

"Are you ticklish anywhere else?" Stan's lips split into a wicked grin, his eyes narrowing.

"Not gonna tell y-you…" I shook my head, giving him a drunken, defiant smile.

"Guess I'll just have to find out my own." Stan's voice was quiet, like he was testing the water.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at his dark form.

"Go ahead." My words came out like a challenge.

"Ok." Stan reached across my chest, drawing his fingers lightly against the skin over my ribs. His fingertips felt soft, like they were barely touching me, and the sensation was soothing. I closed my eyes, but my body did not shake. It felt…nice. But not ticklish, definitely not.

"Try again." I said, my eyes still shut.

His hand moved south, fingers then hovering over my belly button. I shook my head in response. Again he went further down, fingers tracing over my hip bones, and still moving downward. With one hand he traced the muscle lining the inside of my thigh, and when he reached my knee his fingers traveled down over my calf muscle and ending at my ankle. He looked up at me questioningly, and somehow I was able to make out his navy blue eyes through the darkness.

"No." I shook my head again.

"Hm." Stan was looking down at me thoughtfully.

He crawled over me then, his arms on either side of my body, eyes still gazing down at me intensely. I stayed as still as possible, my breathing becoming shallow as I was suddenly staring up at Stan's face.

"You're only ticklish on your neck." He said quietly. He had one knee placed between my legs, and both his forearms were placed on either side of my shoulders. He wasn't touching me at all, and that was almost worse than if he had been.

"Yeah." I didn't know what else to say. I didn't trust myself to say any more.

He stared at me for a few moments longer. Then he leaned forward, so close to me. He was careful, so steady and sure of himself, when suddenly his lips were on the side of my throat, and my hands were clenching the sheets to keep myself from making any noise. His lips were surprisingly soft, and they moved against my neck gently, slowly. He flicked his tongue out, barely touching my skin, like he was tasting and testing, trying to figure me out. I turned my head to the side then, baring my throat, arching my head back so that his lips could move as they pleased. He took me up on my offer, drawing his mouth downward in light, butterfly kisses, his lips barely ghosting over my skin. Parting his lips, he bit down gently on my collarbone, so softly that I wanted to cry out, scream at him to bite harder.

"Am I bothering you?" Stan's voice was strained, like it was difficult for him to speak.

"N-no…" My own voice was quiet, and once again I found myself trying to stay as motionless as possible, thought I didn't know why. Somehow I felt like if I moved I might trigger a cascade.

"I'll stop if you want me to." His mouth was still on my collarbone, voice coming out as a low, reluctant murmur.

I didn't know what he was doing to me. I could see him above me, could feel his mouth against my throat, but somehow none of it seemed real. My eyes, my skin must've been tricking me.

"No." I shook my head, "Don't stop."

My eyes drifted to the side as his lips began to move up from my collarbone. As his mouth traced my throat, I could make out the hazy outline of his hand next to my shoulder, knuckles white, fingers digging into the sheets. Then his tongue was moving across the line of my jaw, and I could see how tense the muscles in his arm were, rigid and uncomfortable. Finally Stan's lips moved up over my cheek, tugging at the corner of my mouth. I turned my head towards him, our lips brushing clumsily against each other, and then Stan pulled away. He looked down at me with serious eyes. We stayed like that a few moments, me laying on my back, Stan's hard body hovering only inches above my own, his knee still placed between my thighs. Still not touching me though…still trying so hard not to touch me. And then he was leaning forward, and my whole body tensed up, like I was preparing for an attack.

He pressed his mouth against mine.

I…I didn't know what I was expecting. Maybe something soft, like when a girl kissed me. But it wasn't like that at all.

He was hard, all of him was hard. His lips pressed up against mine with such force I couldn't help but gasp, sucking in a sharp breath, and he was clever enough to steal that opportunity. I felt his tongue before anything else, probing into my mouth, and all I could do was close my eyes and tilt my head back, allowing him to explore my mouth. Then his chest was pressed against my own, and he was so firm, so sturdy, I felt like I couldn't possibly have moved him if I tried. My body writhed beneath his own, and then our hips bumped together…Stan stiffened at that, his body going still, but his mouth remained at work. Teeth biting against my bottom lip, he pushed his hips forward, and then my face grew hot. His thigh was pushing between my legs, and the sudden friction was making my legs feel weak. On top of that, my bare stomach was sliding against his own, and I could feel Stan's hard abdominal muscles hot against my skin. He was warm, hot even. So hot it almost burned to touch him…but I couldn't help myself. My hands acted on their own, moving upward, wrapping around his waist. I pulled him against me, pulled our bodies together, closer together then I think they'd ever been. There was heat between my legs then, and I think Stan must've noticed, for he pressed harder with his leg, his thigh firm against me, making me squirm with what felt like a mixture of pleasure and agony.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, his body on top of mine, our mouths locked together. Eventually I suppose we separated, though, I didn't really remember that actually happening.

All I knew was that, at some point, Stan relented and allowed sleep to claim me.

* * *

><p><em>(Stan)<em>

_(I can feel you all around me_

_Thickening the air I'm breathing)_

When I opened my eyes, the light seeping in through the blinds over the window made my head hurt. I knew I had drank a lot—a lot of _beer_, at that—but shit, I didn't expect to be so hung over. All I wanted to do was bury myself in the thick blankets that Token's parents probably spent a fortune on. I had no idea what time it was…probably around noon, maybe later. Who the hell knew… After reaching around with a lazy hand, I threw the edge of the beige comforter over my face, trying desperately to escape the harsh glare of the sun. it was eerily silent in the house. Someone must've finally decided it was time to turn the music off…it'd still been playing when I drifted off to sleep, and who knew how long it went on for. All I knew was that my ears felt fuzzy now, probably because the house music had been so damn loud last night. I probably killed off a few thousand brain cells between the alcohol and the horribly loud noise. Shifting in the bed, I felt something warm and still laying next to me.

Kyle.

Wait.

Judging from the amount of bare skin I was feeling, my best friend wasn't wearing much…oh fuck.

I…I had thought it was only a dream. It wouldn't have been the first. I'd dreamt of Kyle before…usually in situations that were incredibly confusing to me. I never really knew how to interpret them, only how to deal with them when I woke up…which was even _more_ confusing. If Kyle knew how I warped him in my dreams…could he even look me in the eye again? I mean, they were only dreams, right? They didn't _really_ mean anything…Kyle was smart enough to realize that. He'd probably just tell me they were brain static or something…then he'd laugh as I explained to him that in all my dreams the best part was hearing him cry out my name—

Ok. Probably should keep that to myself.

Except I didn't. Not last night anyway. No, last night I was dumb enough to act out a few of my fantasies.

And, judging from the sounds Kyle was making when I sucked on his neck…it seemed like maybe, just maybe he had enjoyed himself just as much as I had. What did that mean? It made my stomach roll with giddiness just to consider the possibility that…he liked it? Did I make him like it? Would he want more? Did I want more? Wait…that wasn't even a question. Of course I wanted more. It took all of my self-control last night to stop myself from…from doing something Kyle probably wasn't ready for. Definitely wasn't ready. I should…definitely should get that thought out of my head because fuck, there was no way I could already be thinking of…of something like that with my best friend.

God…I was so fucking stupid.

Or maybe not. Maybe this was a long time coming…or maybe I just ruined what was possibly the most important relationship in my life.

Kyle stirred then, his richly red hair splayed out across the pale pillow. It was interesting to watch him wake up, like watching a disaster occur in slow motion. I wanted to reach out, wanted to help, wanted to stop the chaos before it happened. But there was nothing I could do. Eyelids blinked open, and then hazy emerald eyes were darting back and forth, confusion filling them. Kyle turned on his side slightly, looking at me over his shoulder, the sheet falling off of him to reveal a pale, bare chest. I had hoped he wouldn't panic, but this was Kyle…so of course as soon as we made eye contact, he began to dissolve. Immediately his face reddened, and he went so very still it almost looked like he was ready for a battle. He looked so scared…I wanted to reach out and pull him against me like I did last night, but I wasn't dumb enough to attempt that. Not right now anyway.

"Hey." I tried to smile at him, but I think it came out crooked and fake. He'd be able to see right through it.

"Hey." Kyle's response was quiet, and his eyes fell away from mine.

"I…uh, how are you feeling?" I tried to keep my voice smooth. Failed.

"What?" Kyle's eyes darted back up at me, blinking, "Oh…ok I guess. My head's killing me…"

"Yeah, you were acting funny last night." I nodded, unable to tear my eyes off of him, even though he looked like he'd rather look at anything else but me.

"_I_ was acting funny?" Kyle snapped at me, that fire that I found so attractive suddenly entering his voice. Now he was staring at me like he was fuming. I should've felt bad…but really I just thought it was sexy as hell.

"Did you think I was the one acting strange?" I asked, looking at him expectantly. I knew he'd want to avoid everything, want to go on like nothing had happened. But I wasn't willing to just let it go.

"Y-yes." Kyle spat out the word like it physically hurt.

"Well _you_ were the one who was acting sick. Like someone had slipped you something." I pointed out, unable to hide my grin as his face turned a bright, angry red.

"I…you…" Kyle tried to grab for words, "But…you were the one who was…who wasn't…acting normal!"

"It _could_ be normal." The words slipped out of my mouth before I had time to consider them. Maybe I still had some alcohol in my bloodstream that was loosening my tongue.

My best friend went silent at that, his eyes once again falling away from mine.

"I…I should go…" Kyle's voice was very quiet then, so much so that it took me a few moments to process what he was saying.

"What? Wait…" I scrambled up, jumping to my feet as Kyle turn and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up suddenly.

He started scooping his clothes off the floor, tugging his jeans over his legs.

"Kyle!" I reached out wrapping a hand around his bicep, turning him so that he was forced to look me in the eye. I was wearing only my boxers, and he was wearing only a pair of dark jeans that hung low on his hips.

"Kyle, please." I was still holding onto his arm, my eyes staring pleadingly into his, "I…I'm sorry."

"Why?" Kyle shook his head like he couldn't really understand what I was saying.

"I…what?" My voice came out with exasperation, "Just…please don't leave."

"Why?" He repeated his question, making me want to smack my own head with frustration. Why the hell did he think I didn't want him to leave? Because he was my best friend, and I wasn't content to let things end so horribly. Because I knew nothing would be the same until we talked about it. Because I wanted to do what we were doing last night. Because I wanted to make Kyle make those noises he made when I bit him on the throat. Because I wanted to spend the rest of the day with him, even if we just laid in bed and…and explored each other. Actually, that was what I wanted the most.

But I didn't say any of those things.

"I…I just want you to stay." I shrugged lightly.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Kyle shook his head sadly, yanking his arm from my grasp.

He picked up his shirt and turned towards the door, giving me a small frown before he pulled on the doorknob and stepped out.

I stood still a few moments, staring at the empty bed. Then I walked over to my own pile of clothes, bending over and grabbing them. I really didn't know what to do at that point, didn't know how to fix anything with Kyle.

But I knew who could help me…I knew who'd tell me the truth, who'd give me an honest opinion.

I reached into the pocket of my jeans before I pulled them on, yanking out my car keys.

I didn't know where the hell Kenny went last night, but I'd find him soon enough. I had to.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry it took me a bit longer then expected to get this chapter done with. Let me know what you think about Stan and Kyle's little hookup, I agonized over that part for hours before finally deciding how it should go down!<strong>


	8. She Hates Me

_(Kenny)_

_(And she tore my feelings like I had none_

_And ripped them away)_

"Excuse me?"

Red was standing at the foot of my bed in nothing but a pair of violet, lacy underwear cut in a very flattering boyshorts-style. I couldn't help but shift my eyes down from her angry face, skimming my gaze over her bare chest, taking in the site of her two round breasts. As much as the girl was pissing me off, I had to admit she had a fantastic rack. Currently she was standing with her hands on curved hips, manicured nails digging into her own pale flesh. Blue eyes were narrowed and glaring at me with what could only be described as pure rage, and judging by the way her teeth were bared in a nasty grimace, it was only going to get worse from here on out. I was still laying on my bed, propped up on a wimpy pillow, one arm thrown across my forehead to protect my eyes from the sunlight that was creeping in through the window on the far wall of my bedroom. Or bedcloset…it was definitely more the size of a closet. My head was pounding like someone was hammering a nail into my eye socket, and the screeching voice of the banshee standing in front of me definitely wasn't helping.

"_Excuse me_?" Red repeated, her voice snotty. She wasn't even pretending to like me now.

"Look," I groaned, running a hand through my knotted, yellow hair, "I got shit to do—"

"Oh ok. I get it. I _fucking_ get it." Red shook her head, her long hair swishing across her creamy shoulders, "Why don't you just fucking say it like it is? You just wanted a quick fuck and—"

"Alright," I rolled my eyes, wanting nothing more than to shove the witch out of my room, "I just wanted a quick fuck and that's it. Now…are you going to bail or what?"

"You're unbelievable!" She bent over, the knobs of her spine jabbing out from her back as she scooped her clothes off the floor, "If you aren't fucking interested then stop coming to me every time you want to have sex! We've fucked like ten times now…and if you aren't planning on going anywhere with it then just stop it!"

"Right, right." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice, "However, you forgot the part where I've fucked like everyone in the school ten times, so that really doesn't give you much leverage, does it?"

"You really are disgusting." Red shook her head again as she tugged on her sparkly gold top from the previous night.

"Oh don't pretend like I tricked you into this or something." I shot up, staring at her, "If I remember correctly, you were the one who pulled _me_ into the bathroom at Token's! You were the one who dropped your panties and bent over the sink and begged _me_ to fuck _you_!"

"Well…I…" She struggled for words as she yanked on her skirt, "I…I was drunk! I…I didn't really know what I was doing…"

"Well you know what?" My voice grew loud then, practically echoing off the walls, "Maybe if you wanted to fuck me when you were sober I might actually think about dating you!"

"I…I…" Her mouth actually dropped open at that, pink-stained lips parting wide.

"Just go." I growled lowly, my voice husky, "Get the fuck out."

I didn't even watch her leave before turning onto my side, facing the wall next to my tiny bed. Why the hell I'd thought it was a good idea to bring her back to my room, I had no idea. I head the loud snapping of my bedroom door banging into its frame, and I sighed in relief. I was glad to have that bitch gone…who the fuck did she think she was, getting off on accusing me of being disgusting? Why, because I fucked a girl who wanted to fuck me? Who the shit _wouldn't_ do that? And she had been all over me last night anyway…grabbing at my crotch as soon as she saw me. I thought we had a pretty well understood deal, I thought she knew that when we got drunk at parties we hooked up. Simple as that. Why the hell did she think it might've been something more? And what I said was true…she only ever came on to me when she was drunk as shit. What the hell was I supposed to think of that? I wasn't stupid…I knew she only ever went after me because I was a good lay and always willing. Plus, she knew nobody would look down on her for it…after all, I was the one _everyone_ fucked. Cute, perfect little Red could act like a drunken slut with me and no one would bat an eyelash.

And then she could go pretend like _I_ was doing _her_ wrong by not trying to woo her or anything.

Oh please. That bitch didn't give me a second glance at school. She never made any attempt to talk to me, never asked me out, never even fucking tried to have a real conversation with me. She wasn't really upset with me for not wanting to date her…she was just pretending to be insulted and hurt because she knew that was what was expected of her.

For some reason, I really wanted to punch the wall I was staring at.

I didn't care. I swear…I didn't care.

There was a knocking on my door, and I practically snarled in response.

"I said to fucking get the fuck out!" I hissed, clenching my eyes shut and burying my face into my pillow.

"Damn, not a good night then?"

At the sound of Stan's voice, I shot up, propping myself up on my bare elbows. He was standing in my doorway, looking at me with a small grin on his face. There were bags under his eyes, and the clothes he was wearing looked like they were probably the ones he wore to the party: jeans and a gray shirt. His black hair was flattened on one side, like he'd slept on it funny all night. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, and the grin on his face looked very strained, almost like it caused him physical pain. He took a few steps toward the bed, legs moving stiffly, and his stormy-blue eyes were staring at me, waiting for guidance.

"Whoa dude…you look rough." I frowned deeply as I spoke. Stan was a pretty strong guy, but he looked downright miserable.

Which could only mean one thing.

Kyle. Not even Wendy had ever had that kind of effect on him.

"Yeah well…judging from the look on Red's face," Stan shrugged, turning and slowly lowering himself down onto my mattress, "Your morning was probably as shitty as mine."

"Dude…don't even get me started." I sighed deeply, reaching out with my hand and gripping my thin blanket to toss it back. Swinging my legs over the side of my mattress, I planted my feet on the dirty carpet and stood up, reaching my arms towards the sky. Stretching felt good…even if standing up made my head swim.

"She giving you problems?" Stan cocked his head to the side, looking up at me with mournful eyes.

"More like she's trying to pretend I'm treating her like shit." I lazily strutted over to my plastic hamper of clothes, grabbing the first shirt I could find that smelled relatively clean.

"Yeah she seemed pretty pissed when she passed me." Stan continued, averting his eyes as I tugged on a pair of jeans, "She didn't even say hi."

"Yeah well…she's trying to pretend like I'm being an asshole because I'm not trying to date her." I rolled my eyes as I reached down and ran a finger over a hole in my jeans, just above my right knee.

"So why don't you date her?" Stan asked innocently, "Just not into her?"

"Oh please." I turned away from him, suddenly not wanting him to see my face, "She only ever remembers I exist when she wants some dick."

"I'm surprised you brought her home." Stan tactfully altered the subject, "You never bring anyone home."

"Yeah…shit was weird last night." I shook my head, reaching up and rubbing my eyes as I leaned against the small wooden desk opposite of my bed, "My head felt weird. Actually…my whole body felt weird. I don't really remember all of it…"

Stan felt silent at that, getting this thoughtful look on his face, like he was trying to compute math and was coming up with an impossible answer.

"So what happened with you?" I folded my arms across my chest, staring across the room at Stan, "You don't really look happy."

"Um…see, well…" Stan reached up, wringing his hands together, "I kind of…here's the thing, something happened."

"Yeah I guessed that." I nodded, cocking an eyebrow up. He was acting very nervous…that meant I was about to hear something real interesting.

"You can't…you can't tell _anyone_." Stan stared at me with hard eyes that were dark like hurricane seas, "I mean it Kenny. Your one of my best friends and I trust you and…and I really need your help right now. Please."

Oh shit. This was serious.

"Come on Stan," I spoke quietly, confidently, "You know I'd never tell anyone anything I wasn't supposed to."

"Ok. It's just…" He was chewing on his bottom lip now, "I just don't really know how to say it. I don't want you to get mad…or freaked out…or—"

"Stan, just spit it out." I spat impatiently.

"I kissed Kyle last night." Stan's words came out so fast I actually had to blink and replay them in my brain to understand them.

Well. That was…quite unexpected. Time to initiate wise-friend mode.

"Ok, first of all, don't panic." I held out my hands palms up, trying to calm my friend down. His face was turning red, and then he was wringing his hands so violently that his nails looked like they were cutting into his palms. Figures. Any crisis involving Kyle usually turned Stan into a mess.

"I mean…what kind of a kiss was it?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at Stan.

"What…what do you mean?" My friend was looking at me with wide, worried eyes as he spoke.

"Like…was it a peck on the cheeks? Or a quick kiss on the lips?" I walked over to my plastic hamper again, reaching down and picking up my orange parka.

"Uh…it was more like I took his clothes off, climbed on top of him, and sucked on his neck while dry humping him. _That_ kind of kissing." Stan groaned, burying his face into his hands, his elbows placed on his knees.

Good god damn. I did _not_ think Stan had that in him! I mean, I'd seen the way he'd stared at Kyle whenever the redhead pranced around in his speedo, but damn, I didn't think Stan had the guts to make such a ballsy move.

"Holy shit dude!" I couldn't help it, I burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching my stomach. That was probably cruel, but it was hilarious once I thought about it. Here I was thinking Stan had just let his lips linger a little too long on Kyle's cheek…but I couldn't have been more wrong. From the sound of things, Stan got a chance to rub on Kyle quite a bit.

"Hey!" Stan's blue eyes shot open indignantly, "It's not funny! Kyle freaked out this morning!"

"Did he?" I frowned then, my laughter dying down as I saw the hurt in Stan's expression.

Of course. He always was pretty emo when it came to those he cared about. And of course, he probably cared about Kyle more than anyone else around.

"Yes." He sighed deeply, hanging his head down so that he was staring at the carpet, "He took off. I…I tried to talk to him, but he just kind of freaked and disappeared. I don't even know how he got home…"

"Well, what're you going to do about it?" I asked pointedly.

"What?" Stan looked up at me with confusion, "That's why I came to talk to you."

"Ok, let me ask you this," I spoke slowly, carefully, "What do you _want_ to happen now?"

"I…I don't want Kyle to hate me." Stan's voice was sad, like what he was saying was impossible.

The fact that Stan could even think for a moment that Kyle was capable of hating him just proved how dumb the jock could be sometimes.

"You need to be more specific than that." I replied gently.

"I…I want more." Stan's shoulders heaved as he sighed deeply, once again burying his face into his hands, "I want to try more of it out. I…I liked it last night. I liked it a lot. Now I can't get it out of my head…I feel like the next time I see Kyle all I'm going to want to do is touch him."

Fuck. This was way more complex then I'd thought. I didn't really think I was qualified for this…I mean, I was the expert on lust, but judging from what Stan was saying… This went pretty far beyond that. Pretty far beyond my experience.

"Ok…" I answered slowly, carefully considering the information, "So obviously you have to go after him."

"What?" Stan looked up at me with surprise.

Man, he really was new to this. No wonder he hadn't had a girl since Wendy. Or a guy, for that matter.

"Go after him." I repeated louder, "He's probably losing his mind right now because he doesn't know how to react. So give him a day to calm down. Then go after him. Force him to sit down and talk to you about it."

"I tried that this morning!" Stan cried in exasperation.

"Ok…try this," I snapped my fingers as I came up with a better plan, "When you're sober…do what you did last night!"

"Huh?" The brunette looked at me like I was mad, "You think I should…just make out with him again?"

"Yes." I nodded eagerly, "See, that's why I'm so mad at Red. She only ever wants me when she's drunk…so I know she doesn't really give a shit about me. Kyle's probably really confused right now because he most likely thinks that last night was just about you being drunk and horny. He's probably freaking because he thinks it meant nothing to you."

"But…" Stan shook his head slowly, "How could he think like that? He's my best friend…"

"Look, I'm just telling you what I think he's probably thinking." I went on, waving out my hand for emphasis, "But if you go make a move on him when you're both sober…he'll know you're actually into him."

"You know…that actually makes a lot of sense." Stan sounded genuinely impressed, "Now I just have to convince him to talk to me again."

The way he was smiling at me made me want to smile back.

It felt good to be useful for once.

* * *

><p><em>(Cartman)<em>

_(I hate you! I hate you!_

_I swear to God I hate you!_

_Oh my God I love you!)_

Something had happened at the party.

Monday morning I had initially found myself standing alone at the bus stop. Kenny had decided to skip school obviously…and event that was occurring with more and more frequency. Stan and Kyle would purse their lips in disapproval as soon as they realized Kenny wouldn't be joining us, but I didn't give a shit. Kenny was dumb as a bucket of paint anyway, it's not like going to school did him any good. He wasn't going to go to college, so what was the point of it all? It'd warmed up the past couple of days, and I was standing near the stop sign in nothing but jeans and a long sleeve shirt. The wind was chilly as it blew against my body, but the sun shining overhead was so bright and powerful that its heat easily overwhelmed the wind's cool bite.

I hadn't seen any of my 'friends' since Token's party.

After everything had gone to shit, I became so pissed that I walked all the way home. My mother tried to pretend like she was worried about me when I walked in the door at three in the morning, but I could tell from the stench of vodka on her breath and cigarette smoke in the air that she had had a jolly good fucking time without me. My mom doesn't smoke, so I knew she'd had the nerve to bring back one of her john's that night. Fucking bitch. After that I stormed upstairs and slammed my bedroom door so hard that I heard a few picture frames in our hallway crash onto the floor.

The fucking party didn't go as I planned, to say the least.

Even after mixing Kenny and Kyle a nice little cocktail with my own personal touch, the little fucker still couldn't get his mind off of Stan mother fucking Marsh. I didn't know what happened to Kenny—didn't care—but I didn't even get two minutes alone with Kyle before he started blabbing on about looking for his super best friend. Little Jew dog just _had_ to go find Stan…couldn't spend one god damn night without him. He was so fucking pathetic it made me want to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze until he was gasping for air and _begging_ me to release him. Actually, the idea of Kyle crying and pleading for mercy was a pretty little picture for me to play with in my mind… I didn't know where the hell he disappeared to after he left me, probably ended up spending the night with Stan. Just the thought of that football-playing idiot getting his claws on Kyle after _I_ was the one who took the time and effort to ensure that the redhead would be craving some skin on skin contact was enough to make me want to rip the hair out of my scalp.

And something had indeed happened between the two.

That was apparent when Kyle arrived at the bus stop by himself. This was an incredible occurrence…I don't think Kyle and Stan had missed a morning together in years.

When the Jew arrived he was staring at his shoes, lips set into a tiny frown. He was silent as he came to stand next to me, one arm reached up and gripping onto the strap of his black backpack.

I wanted to laugh out loud, I was so pleased with this reaction.

"Kahl," I let my voice linger on his name far longer than necessary, "Where's Stan?"

"Don't know." He shrugged as if he didn't care, but I noticed that he winced as if I had jabbed him with a needle.

"I see." I almost had to bite down on my lips to keep from smirking, "And how was your weekend? Did the party go well for you?"

"Not really." Kyle shook his head, reaching up and adjusting his forest green ushanka, "And I just did homework the rest of the weekend."

This was good news. Even if I didn't get exactly what I had wanted, it was good to know Token's party wasn't an entire waste. At least Stan had managed to fuck things up.

"You sound upset Kahl." I turned my words gentle and sweet, careful not to overdo it. Unfortunately Kyle was far cleverer than the rest of the population of South Park, and he'd be far more likely to detect trickery than anyone else. I'd have to watch myself with him.

And perhaps that was why I found him so intriguing. He was actually somewhat of a challenge.

Green eyes darted up to glare at me with suspicion. I tried my best to look as sincere as possible, making my face a mask of light concern. I must've passed Kyle's test, for after a few moments his gaze softened, and his eyes dropped back down to the asphalt.

"I just…had a rough couple of days." He sighed, closing his eyes briefly, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" I attempted to press him a little further, wanting to take advantage of this situation as much as possible.

"Yeah…yeah." He looked up at me, giving me a soft smile, "I'll be ok. I just…need to figure some stuff out."

I merely nodded in response, pretending to back off and allow him some privacy, but on the inside I was gloating. I hadn't achieved a smile from Kyle in…years. He had a pretty smile, with straight white teeth, but I couldn't help but want to grip him by his hair and pull until he screamed. Did that mean I liked his smile? I couldn't be sure…

When Stan finally made his appearance, things couldn't have gone better.

He was walking swiftly towards us, feet stomping against the sidewalk like he thought he was late for something very important. The jock looked a mess; his black hair was sticking up in all directions and his eyes were glassy and bright red, like he hadn't gotten sleep in weeks. The normally cocky athlete stumbled over his own feet as he approached, and he got this sour look on his face when his eyes flashed between me and Kyle, his mind processing the fact that Kyle was standing close to _me_.

Not Stan. Me.

"Cartman." Stan gave me a wary nod before quickly turning to Kyle, "Hey Kyle."

"Hey." The redhead grumbled a low response, not even raising his eyes to greet Stan.

The jock's shoulders slumped in disappointment, and I wanted to laugh at the pitiful way he was staring at Kyle.

The rest of our time at the bus stop was spent in mostly silence. Stan tried a few more times to engage Kyle in conversation, but the curt words the Jew answered with were enough to make Stan eventually give up. Stan walked to stand on the other side of me after Kyle had visibly stiffened and drawn away when he tried to approach him. I managed to get a few full sentences out of Kyle—not that I really cared what he had to say, but I loved watching Stan scowl in jealousy when his best friend eagerly responded to my advances. I was reveling in this victory, and all I could picture in my mind was toying with Kyle right in front of Stan's eyes. How would the jock respond if Kyle let me touch him the way he let Stan tough him? I could already imagine the brunette's face turning red with jealousy…I knew he would despise having to share his precious Jew with someone else.

When the bus arrived, we boarded quietly. Stan slid into his usual seat, and as Kyle made his way down the aisle, he shot his best friend a very frightened look. Kyle took the hint and slid into the seat, putting as much space between him and the quarterback as possible. I sneered at that before making my way to my own seat. I had hoped Kyle's rebellion would be strong enough to cause him to sit with me, but it seemed he wasn't quite ready to outright defy Stan. I sat down in silence, my brown eyes narrowing as I stared hard at the two friends. Kyle was sitting very still, staring down at his hands in his lap. Stan, on the other hand, was looking at his friend with such intensity it was a wonder Kyle didn't burst into flame. I bit down on my cheek when I saw Stan reach out, placing a hand gingerly on Kyle's shoulder, but to my chagrin the redhead shrugged it off violently, turning away from Stan and refusing to look at him. Finally Stan seemed to give up, and he leaned forward, resting the side of his face against one hand, eyes still faithfully focused on his best friend. It really was pitiful to watch, and it made me want to kick Stan's teeth out just so I wouldn't have to watch him pine after Kyle anymore. Not that it mattered anymore…this was finally my opportunity to get a leg up on Stan, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste.

I figured out a long time ago that I was very good at getting what I wanted.

And unfortunately for Stan, what he wanted and what I wanted were the same thing.

One of us had to lose…and I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that it wasn't me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. You guys are motivating me to keep writing!<strong>


	9. Lonely Day

_(Stan)_

_(And if you go,_

_I want to go with you)_

By lunchtime, I was ready to kill myself. Like really just wrap my own hands around my throat and squeeze until my eyes popped out.

It was bad enough that Kyle wouldn't talk to me the entire bus ride to school. Not only was that boring, but it was incredibly, horribly, cringe-worthily awkward. The whole time I kept sneaking glances out of the corner of my eye, but not once was I able to catch Kyle looking at me, or giving me any proof that he was aware of my existence. He was so quiet and so still it was like he didn't even exist. Then when we finally got to school he ran off, muttering something about having to go to his locker. I was tempted to follow him—tempted to drag him into a janitors closet and…I don't know. Force him to listen to me. Or maybe I was just having fantasies about getting dirty with him in a school closet. Either way, I resisted, gritting my teeth and heading to my first class in silence. I couldn't even focus on pre-calculus at all. I mean, I was staring at the board with my eyes, but my brain definitely wasn't in the class room and definitely wasn't aware of anything the teacher told me. First I was trying to come up with some master plan to work everything out—and that was a big failure because I couldn't really come up with anything other than cornering him and physically holding him down while I explained myself to him. And then of course thinking of pinning Kyle beneath me led to other thoughts…

I had to bite down hard on my tongue to keep myself from thinking too hard about getting on top of Kyle.

After math class I tried to look for Kyle in the hallway, but then the warning bell rang out over the intercom and I had to sprint to my English class. Thankfully we were watching a movie in there, so I didn't have to worry about trying to pay attention. But it still wasn't enough to take my mind off things.

I've fucked up pretty hard before. Like when I was younger and got really drunk and told Kyle I hated him. Literally 90 seconds later I was telling him how much I loved him, but that didn't erase the mental picture I had of Kyle's face falling when I screamed at him. That was one of the worst times I've ever fucked up…but now this. This was a hundred thousand times worse than I thought I could ever screw shit up. Where did we go from here? I didn't even really know what I wanted… I care about Kyle more than anyone else in the world, more than my own family, and I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hold him, try new things with him… But what if I had single-handedly destroyed our friendship just because I couldn't keep my fucking hands to myself? What if Kyle was completely disgusted by what I'd done to him? As I sat in my English class, my stomach had dropped at the idea of Kyle never wanting me to come near him again. A hopeful voice in the back of my mind whispered that he had sighed in pleasure when I kissed his neck, but maybe that had just been because he was drunk and didn't realize what was going on. Maybe I had inadvertently forced him to do something he never wanted to. Would he hate me? Would our friendship—a relationship spanning over 15 years—be ruined all because of me?

I might've started to have a mini-panic attack in the middle of my English class. Thankfully though, the bell rang for lunch. I headed to the cafeteria with determination, ready to set things straight with Kyle, but everything turned to shit there too. He didn't even sit with us. No, Kyle instead chose to settle himself between Bebe and Wendy on the opposite end of the lunch room. He kept his head down, eating very quietly, but Wendy was shooting me dirty looks from hell, her blue eyes glaring at me with pure fire. I almost choked on my slice of pizza when I caught her narrowed eyes tracking me. Had Kyle told her what happened? They were pretty close…but no, this was serious. This was big time shit that nobody at the school should know…and Kyle was one of the most private people I knew. More then likely he hadn't said anything at all, but Wendy—being one of the smartest girls at school—probably put two and two together. She obviously knew that I had done something real bad. And of course she would get angry and blame me before even knowing the whole story…that was so like her. I really like Wendy, really care about her, but sometimes I swear I think she actually enjoys getting pissed at me. Almost like it gives her an opportunity to act all self-righteous and shit.

Sitting in the lunch room, next to Cartman and Token, I had really, really wished that Kenny had come to school. At least I would've had someone to vent my frustrations to.

But I was about to fix things. After lunch, the four of us—three since Kenny was MIA—all had history together. Kyle wouldn't be able to avoid me then, and I was going to make sure that we solved our issues. God knows I couldn't take another school day like this one. Only a few hours without Kyle smiling and talking to me and I was ready to start screaming and banging my skull against a wall. Another day or two without him and I might've seriously contemplated hurting myself.

I settled down in my usual seat, near the front row. Kyle normally sat to my left, and I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ditch me in this class too. But he didn't: he came in a few moments after I did, his head down, arms holding onto the straps on his black backpack. He shuffled forward, eyes glued to the floor, sliding into his normal seat without even a glance in my direction. Cartman came in not too much later, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him when I saw the gross smirk on his face. Figures…of course Cartman would enjoy my suffering. He constantly claimed to be disgusted by Kyle and I's friendship, so it was no surprise to me that he was enjoying our little 'fight'. If you could even call it that…it wasn't much of a fight if Kyle was pretending I didn't exist, was it? Either way, I could practically smell the satisfaction that was radiating off of Cartman… His brown eyes were even glazed over, like he was getting physical pleasure from watching Kyle ignore me.

The teacher wasted no time. She immediately began talking about the second World War, and normally by this time my eyelids would begin to droop. But not today…no, today I had far too much on my mind.

I carefully pulled out a spiral notebook from my backpack, flipping it open to some notes I had taken on Friday. Right below a list of reasons Japan was initially so successful during the war, there was a large white space at the bottom of the page, and I took advantage of this, scribbling slowly and discreetly:

_We need to talk_

I set it on Kyle's desk, turning away to look at the teacher before Kyle had a chance to throw the notebook back at me. Not thirty seconds later the notebook thumped quietly back onto my desk. I turned, trying to catch the redhead's eyes, but he was looking away. Still ignoring me. Glancing down at the notebook, I wanted to laugh out loud at my best friend's response:

_No we don't_

I picked up my own pencil, scraping it across the paper so hard that I thought I might rip the page:

_Yes we fucking do_

This time I stared at him hard when I passed him the notebook. He flinched when my eyes hit him, drawing away from me as if I'd struck him across the face, but he reached for the notebook nonetheless. Kyle's face turned a bright red, and he wrote with almost as much fervor as I did. This time he nearly threw the notebook at me, causing our teacher to purse her overly-painted lips at us, but thankfully she kept quiet.

_Fine talk then_

Sometimes, Kyle really frustrated me. Did he really think we could settle this by passing notes in our god damn history class? I had to resist the urge to snap my pencil in half as I wrote my answer:

_Meet me after school_

His response was just as quick:

_I got swim practice_

Of course he was trying to get out of this. If it were up to Kyle, I think we wouldn't talk for a week and then eventually pretend like nothing happened…but that wouldn't work. That wasn't good enough. I wrote him back:

_I'll come to your house after school_

I could see he wanted to say no to that. His eyes widened almost fearfully, and then he shot me a suspicious look, his green eyes narrowing dangerously. I could see Cartman was craning his neck, trying to get a look at what we were writing, but Kyle seemed to notice that too, for he curled his arms over the notebook, his hand covering most of what we had said. He wrote slowly, erased, then wrote again, biting down on his bottom lip like he was thinking real hard about something. When he passed me back the notebook, it took a lot of my self control to keep from pumping my fist in the air with victory:

_Ok_

* * *

><p><em>(Kyle)<em>

_(I am a slave_

_And I am a master)_

Even though our school pool was heated, nothing felt better then a hot shower after practice.

I peeled off my wet speedo, the slick material pulling at my skin as I tugged it down over my legs. Immediately my whole body shuddered as the air blasting from the AC in my bathroom ceiling assaulted my bare skin. To make matters worse, tiny, dewy droplets dotted my skin. Even the pale blue tile under my feet was freezing cold. Yanking back the shower curtain, I stepped in, hissing in pain as the steaming liquid cascaded down my body. It felt amazing as my skin turned red from the hot water, like pain therapy. I closed my eyes and hung my head as I stepped under the shower nozzle, the water streaming down my face and onto my chest. It really was incredibly relaxing, and I couldn't help but sigh in contentment. I'd swam really well at practice, even better then I had last week. Maybe it was because all I wanted to do was forget about everything…and the harder I pushed myself, the more my muscles screamed and my chest burst, the less I thought about my best friend. The less I had to worry about all the bullshit. Coach had been thrilled with me, and for a little while that had been enough to take my mind off things. But as soon as my mom came to pick me up, as soon as she turned and asked me why Stan wasn't picking me up, it all came crashing down again.

I didn't know how long I was in the shower. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Either way, by the time I reached up to turn the turn to the far side, my skin was pruney and my eyes red from the heat. I tugged the shower curtain away, reaching out and grabbing a peach colored towel to scrub over my body. After rubbing it through my hair three times, I wrapped the towel around my waist before stepping out of the shower. I could hear my mom downstairs talking to Ike—talking about me probably. But I didn't care, why the hell should I? Those two loved gossiping about my private life…but god, I don't think either one of them could even dream about the shit that had gone down. My mom would probably scream out loud at that, and Ike? I think he'd laugh at me. Walking into my room, I turned and shut the door behind me, allowing the towel to drop from my hips onto the carpet. Striding over to my wooden dresser, I yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers to slip on. Pulling open the second drawer, I opted for a pair of tight, dark blue jeans that were one of my favorite pairs.

Just as I reached down to zip up my pants, there was a knocking on my door. As soon as I heard it I froze, looking up and staring at the door in silence. I think I might've stared at it for a full minute before the knocking sounded again, this time more rapid and impatient.

God, I wasn't ready for this. If I could've turned and leapt out my window, I think I would've.

But I didn't. I managed to summon up some courage that I had buried away, and I walked toward the door. A voice in the back of my head told me it'd probably be smart to pull a shirt on, but I didn't have time for that. I needed to open my bedroom door before I lost all my bravery and bolted away. Reaching out, I placed my hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly and stepping back as I pulled the door open.

Stan.

It was funny, he was standing a few feet in front of me, but he might as well have been touching me, my face turned so red. He was wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans, a blue long sleeved shirt, with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had been staring at the carpet, but when I opened the door he lifted his eyes up slowly, as if it was physically difficult for him to look at me. His black hair was falling in front of his eyes, and if this had been any other day, I would've reached out and pushed it back, out of his line of vision. But I couldn't do that now…I could barely take being in the same room as him. I almost felt that if we touched each other it would actually burn my skin. He tried to smile at me when we made eye contact, but I could tell it was strained. His whole body was tense like he was preparing for an attack…

I didn't say anything, but I took a step back, opening the doorway for him.

He walked in silently, hands still buried in his jeans, eyes still glued to the floor. I shut the door behind him, careful to push the lock in. I wouldn't put it past my mother to 'accidentally' barge in during our talk…and I certainly didn't want that to happen. Not this time.

"Hey." He had turned to face me, his dark blue eyes staring at me real hard. He was standing in the middle of my room, looking at me like he was afraid I was about to shatter into a dozen pieces.

"Hey." I repeated back at him, my voice wary. I remained where I was standing, close to the door.

When Stan's eyes dropped, scanning me, I suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that I wasn't wearing a shirt, and my jeans were real low.

"So." I folded my arms against my bare chest.

"So…what?" Stan blinked at me as if I were speaking a language he didn't understand.

"You wanted to talk." I shouldn't have spoken so curtly, but I did, "So talk."

"I don't want to talk." Stan shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing in what appeared to be anger.

"You…what?" I couldn't hide my confusion, and I stared at him like he was dumb. Even though he was the one who seemed so sure of himself…even though I was the one who was holding onto my own shoulders in hopes that he couldn't see me shaking.

"I said I don't want to talk." Stan repeated, his words tapering off with a low, aggressive growl.

"Then…then what the hell are you doing here?" A feeling of hurt speared my through my stomach as I spoke, dropping my arms to side so that my fingers could clench into tight fists.

He didn't say anything. Normally I liked his ocean-colored eyes, but now they were staring at me with such calm that it made me want to scream at him. How could he be so calm about this? How could he just…act like nothing was wrong? I hated that he was making me feel…insane. As if I had imagined everything that had happened.

"Would you just…stop!" I took a step forward, snapping at him sharply, "Stop staring at me like that!"

He moved so quickly I didn't really have a chance to react. Which was a good thing, because if I knew what he was about to do, I probably would've tried to stop it.

Stan's hands came up, and then they were pressing on my biceps, pushing me forward roughly. I cried out in surprise as the skin over my back hit my wooden door, my eyes going wide in pure shock. Then Stan's mouth was on my own, and my legs went weak as our lips crashed together. I might've sank to my knees, but Stan's hands moved down from my arms to my hips, his fingers resting over bare skin, right at the waistline of my jeans. His tongue slipped past my lips, and then he was pressing into me with his entire body. His mouth melted into mine, his hips pushing into my own, my bare stomach meeting the cotton fabric of his shirt. It was so many sensations all at once, and it was intoxicating and frightening at the same time. I wanted to meet his pressing body, wanted to push against him just as hard as he was pushing into me, but I was afraid of what he'd do after that. It made no difference though, as Stan was content to lead the battle. His teeth bit at my lower lip, and then I gasped, arching my back and tilting my head away from him. Lips moving down my jaw to my throat, Stan bit down on my neck, and then his hand slid down to grip the back of my thigh. I gasped as he lifted my thigh, pulling my legs apart, and then his was grinding his groin into me. Our jeans caught on each other, and Stan's face was flushed as he pressed harder, growling into my neck as he crushed his larger body into my smaller frame.

Stan pulled away after a few moments, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around my wrist. He led me to my bed silently, his eyes not even meeting my own. We cleared the entire length of my room in only a few seconds, which was good. If it had taken much longer, I might've had enough time to seriously think about what we were doing.

I didn't know if Stan pushed me or if I willingly fell backward on my own, but either way, I felt the soft, velvety comfort of my blankets on my back. Stan slid over me like it was the most natural thing in the world, his hard muscles crashing against my leaner body. We met like two enemies, his hands pinning my wrists to the sheets like I was a captive. That might not have been too far from the truth, actually. He bent forward, placing kisses on my neck, over my collarbone, and then across my upper chest. I closed my eyes—still couldn't quite bring myself to look at him—and then lifted my hips, bucking against him. My best friend smiled arrogantly against my chest, and then his mouth moved lower, and I jerked in response as I felt his tongue slide against the muscles that covered my stomach. I thought he'd stop there—surely he wouldn't dare go further—but he didn't. My eyes were still closed, but I could feel his lips moving lower and lower, until finally they were meeting the skin just above the denim of my jeans. It was far lower then I would've allowed, but I arched my back, meeting each of his kisses with a thrusting of my hips. My skin felt hot then, like Stan had lit me on fire, causing my body to writhe against the blankets of my bed.

He picked his head up, pulling away from my stomach, and then Stan's body was engulfing mine. He was on top of me, arms on either side of my body, and, as I finally opened my eyes, all I could see was him.

This time…I was the one who kissed him.

I tilted my jaw back, pressing my lips gently against his own. That wasn't enough though; Stan pushed back harder than ever, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I vaguely noticed that his fingers were gripping the sheets so hard that his knuckles were white, and for some reason that made a rush of heat surge between my legs. My lips parting, I whimpered into our kiss, the sound emanating from my throat both raw and lewd. Stan responded how I had hoped he would: he easily nudged my legs with his thighs, pushing them apart and pressing his groin between my legs. I went still then, unsure of what to think, but then I felt something pressing against me, a hardness between Stan's legs that was unmistakable.

At that point, it felt like it would be foolish to suddenly become shy.

I bucked against him, the front of my jeans getting uncomfortably tight, and he answered by thrusting against me. I shifted beneath him, the tent in Stan's pants rubbing against my thigh, and he must've liked that, because the next thing I knew he was rolling his hips. He met my squirming body with thrusts of his own. Some other time, I might've turned bright red with embarrassment upon realizing that Stan was rubbing his dick against me, but now it only made me want to rub back.

So I did.

When he next pressed against me, I met his thrust, and my own painfully hard cock slid against Stan's. He gasped at that, his breath hot on my throat, and then he bit down hard, bucking his hips. Our dicks thrust into each other, and it felt so fucking amazing that I threw my head back, sighing softly. Stan groaned in effort, his hands moving from my hips to my back, and then lower until he was gripping my ass tightly. He pulled my body up, pulling me into his thrusting, sitting up slightly. He was looking down at me with a flushed face, his eyes glazed over like he was drugged. I felt exposed as his eyes stared down at me, my head tossed back as I moaned in pleasure, vulgarly rolling my hips so that I was thrusting up and down with each stab of his cock.

It was a good thing he had more self control then me. He pulled away, draping his body over mine. We stayed like that for a while…I didn't really know how long, but it had to have been a while, because by the time he spoke, I had been slipping into dreaming.

"Be with me." His voice was quiet, words slurring together. He'd sort of slid to the side of me, one arm thrown over my stomach, one leg hooked around one of my thighs.

"What?" I'd been on the way to sleep, and my hazy—_horny_—brain could barely process what he said.

"I said be with me." He repeated. He sounded as tired as I felt.

"Why?" I turned my head to the side, blinking my green eyes as I looked at him. We were laying so close together our noses were almost touching.

"Because I said so." Stan leaned forward, pressing his lips in a slow, clumsy kiss on my jaw.

"I guess that's a good reason." I smiled, closing my eyes.

His grip on me tightened, and I slid even closer to him, snuggling against his warm, firm body.

"Do you still hate me?" Stan's lips moved against my throat.

"I could never hate you." I answered, peeking open one eye to see his response. He was staring at me hard, though his gaze was gentle. Tender, even.

"Good." He smiled at me before closing his eyes.

"So…are we going to keep this a secret?" It wasn't something I really wanted to discuss, at least, not now…not when everything was so perfect. But it was necessary…very necessary.

"I don't know." Stan shrugged, but he didn't bother to open his eyes, "I don't think we really need to."

"Ok." I suddenly felt a silly desire to smile until my teeth hurt.

"Good." He smiled at me with closed eyes.

Everything was perfect…and for some reason, that scared me.

* * *

><p><strong>So...I'm really dumb. I finished this chapter DAYS ago and totally forgot to post it. The next one won't take as long, I promise. <strong>


	10. Bad Habit

_(Kenny)_

_(Hey man you know I'm really okay_

_The gun in my hand will tell you the same)_

I think Kyle has rubbed off on me a little too much.

When I woke up on Tuesday—my eyes blinking slowly to reveal the very blurry ceiling in my bedroom—I felt this churning in my gut, like someone was trying to stir my insides. It took me a few moments of groggy confusion before I began to recognize what this feeling was: guilt. I grit my teeth at that, sweeping the blankets off my body and standing up so that I could stomp over to my dresser. That guilt was bothering me, maybe even making me downright angry. What the hell did I have to feel guilty for? I hadn't done anything wrong… Every single word I had said to Red over the weekend had been true. She only ever came onto me when she was piss drunk…what was I to think of that? And that was the problem…Red. I couldn't shake her out of my mind, couldn't stop her hurt, damp eyes from staring at me from out of my subconscious. I reached into my dresser, pulling out a wrinkled green shirt and tugging it onto my body. I didn't have any other clean pants, so I simply turned and slipped on my sneakers, resigning myself to the fact that I'd have to go to school in the ratty gray sweatpants I'd slept in. Bending over, I scooped up my orange parka from the carpet, stuffing my arms down the sleeves and heading to my bedroom door.

Kyle's always had this unfortunate habit of always giving people the benefit of the doubt. Hell, how many times had Kyle given Cartman—_Cartman_, the fat Nazi himself—that benefit? Sure, Kyle had gotten a lot smarter as he got older, and a lot more wary when it came to dealing with people, but he still had this innocence, this idea that everyone deep down was good.

Ha, what a joke.

But somehow I had this nagging feeling that maybe—just _maybe_—Red had been telling the truth. What if she really was hurt that I hadn't tried to date her or whatever the hell? What if she did want more, really did like me? Shit, why did this voice in the back of my head sound like Kyle? Why was I allowing his relentless optimism and foolish belief in other people infect me? Cartman and Stan were both pretty cynical, and me? I didn't trust anyone, didn't believe anyone, knew that everyone lied. So why was I sitting here thinking about this girl and worrying that I had really hurt her feelings? Furthermore…why did I give a shit? I mean, sure, Red was hot and a good screw, and she was nice to talk to and had a cute laugh that was very quiet. And when she was thinking real hard about something she'd twirl a lock of her fiery red hair around her finger, her face scrunched up in concentration. Crap…maybe I liked her. Maybe I thought she was pretty, and maybe I really would've liked to get closer to her…

And maybe I was wrong about her. I assumed she was like everyone else, just looking for a quick fuck. What did that make me, if I was willing to pass judgment on her so quickly, without even allowing her to defend herself?

My mind was made up as I jogged out of my house. I didn't bother looking for my parents; judging from the smell wafting through the house, they were passed out in the living room, probably laying in their own vomit. Whatever, I didn't give a shit. I'd learned a long time ago that any energy I spent trying to help my parents was nothing but a waste. I had no idea what time it was, but I had a feeling I was too late to make the bus. Normally, if I missed the bus I'd crawl back into back, shooting a giant middle finger to the school. I didn't really like to miss two days in a row though…as much as I hated and sucked at school, I really didn't want to have to repeat a grade or anything like that. I wanted to graduate as soon as possible so I could be done with that shit for good. Jogging down the sidewalk, I turned down the main road, heading for the school. Luckily I didn't live that far away, and if I really hustled I could get there with enough time to try and talk to Red before classes started. I didn't have any classes with her, so before school and lunch time were really my only options (she always took off pretty quickly with her girlfriends after school…I seriously doubted I could manage to talk to her then). My stomach roared in protest, clenching and unclenching in pure hunger, but I ignored that, trying my best to breathe as best I could after several blocks of straight running. My backpack thumped against my back with every step, and the wind was cold against my face, but I didn't slow down.

I finally came to a stop when I hit the steps leading up to the entrance of the high school.

I doubled over, hands on my hips, my face flushed a bright red. A few people walking by stared at me, a couple girls giggling and pointing, but I didn't care. Straightening backup, I shifted my backpack on my shoulders, climbing up the steps to the school. Fortunately, I knew where Red's locker was, and it was pretty close to my first class. Taking long, striding steps, my sneakers squeaked against the tile floor as I hurriedly made my way to the science wing of the school. My first class was physics (a class I hated) and Red's locker would be right on the way.

Unfortunately for me, she wasn't there. I came to a halt in front of her locker, standing there and staring at the three numbers plastered across the metal: 2-4-6. I think I might've stared at those numbers for several minutes, but eventually I turned around, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. I leaned casually against the locker directly to the left of Red's, my icy eyes scanning up and down the hallway, on alert for any sign of a bright flash of red hair. After several more minutes, I was still standing there alone. The hall was slowly starting to fill up, with a group of soccer players talking loudly to my right, and few freshmen girls to my left whispering to each other, probably shredding someone's reputation to pieces. After I'd been standing at her locker for over ten minutes, I was starting to get really impatient, my eyes darting back and forth, searching desperately for her. I didn't know why, but I felt a really strong need to resolve this conflict as soon as possible. Once I realized that I wanted to try and fix things with her, I had this giddy, fluttery feeling in my chest. It was almost…excitement. Briefly I toyed with the idea of giving up and going to search for Stan—I hadn't forgotten my friend's dilemma, and I was extremely interested in finding out how things had gone between him and Kyle, but Red _had_ to come to her locker eventually…and I really, really wanted to see her face when I told her I wanted to work things out…

The blonde girl had been staring at me for quite some time before I finally noticed her. I had been lost in a fantasy of Red smiling and everything turning into happily ever after, my eyes glazing over as I stared into nothing. I snapped out of it when blondie made an irritated huffing sound, her lips pursed in an unhappy scowl. I snapped back to reality, jerking my head to the side, my eyes going wide as I looked at her. She was a tiny thing, dressed in pastel colors with silvery bangles around her wrists and matching hoop earrings. One of her hands was planted on her hip, and the other was clutching one of those bags that are shaped like a purse but large enough to hold a small child. Her blue eyes—made ridiculously large by her meticulously curled eyelashes—were glaring up at me with contempt.

I think she was expecting me to say something, but I kept my mouth shut, narrowing my eyes as I realized she was certainly no friend. The people passing by us paid us no mind, not even glancing in our direction, even though it was obvious nothing good was about to happen.

"You've got a lot of nerve." She snapped, her voice sugary yet laced with poison.

"Uh…what?" I blinked, unsure of what else to say. I didn't even know this little tart…

"You really think she wants to talk to _you_?" The blonde pixie's voice raised to a barely tolerable shriek, "You've got a lot of nerve coming around her locker after what you did!"

"Uh, what exactly did I do?" I asked, feeling my stomach sink like I'd swallowed a stone.

"Are you trying to be a smartass?" Blondie narrowed her eyes, "Or are you really just that stupid?"

I shrugged, clenching my teeth together to keep from telling this girl to shove it.

"Look, you can drop the act." She reached up, throwing back her yellow hair haughtily, "She told us how you screwed around with her then ditched her as soon as she brought up the idea of dating! You used her, and that is _so_ not cool—"

"Is that what she told you?" I spat dryly, my hands curling into fists, "Little girl, you really don't know anything, so just shut your—"

"Don't know anything?" Her glossy lips curled into a cruel grin, "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. By the end of today every girl in school is going to know what you did to Red, so don't think you'll be able to con some other girl any time soon!"

Blondie turned on heel, strutting away, her hips swaying back and forth like she was intentionally mocking me.

Part of me wanted to leave right then. Another part of me wanted to run back home, break into my father's stash and make good use of the bottle of Jack I knew he had hidden. But, after a few moments of staring at the empty spot where the girl had been, I decided to wait it out. I had a bad temper, could be extremely impulsive, and I was a little worried that maybe staying wasn't the best idea…what if I lost it and blew up on Red right in the middle of the hallway? That wouldn't be good…wouldn't turn out well for either of us. The blonde girl's words had pissed me off though, who was Red to go blabbing to every girl in school that I'd fucked her over? I didn't like having personal issues aired out like that, and I had to close my eyes and count to ten to keep from beating my fist into a nearby locker. I glanced up at the wall in front of me, where a clock was posted. I still had a solid ten minutes till I had to be in class…still plenty of time to work things out. I was sure I could talk some sense into Red, at least to get her to quell those rumors. The entire school already thought I was a complete slut, I didn't need them also thinking that I liked to hurt girls…

Ok, maybe I was a little on the loose side. Maybe if I was a psychologist, I would say that I liked to fuck around because I was desperately searching for warmth and physical contact that I never got at home as a child… Or maybe I just liked to fuck. Whatever, I didn't like being psychoanalyzed by anyone, so I certainly wasn't going to make any attempt for self-help…or whatever the hell. It wasn't like I didn't want a girlfriend…I did. Its just that anytime someone wanted a quick screw, they came to me. I was ok with that, I swear. There were a few times I grew attached, a few times I tried to initiate something more then just sex. But the horrified, embarrassing reactions I got those few times were enough to make me realize that when people came to me, they really did just want sex. I was staring at my shoes then, once again lost in thought as I had been before that blonde bitch interrupted me. I didn't like thinking too hard for too long; eventually I came to conclusions that made me very sad, and I could feel that—with every minute passing—my chest was growing tighter and tighter. Maybe she wasn't coming to school today…or maybe she was purposefully avoiding me…what it she had came before I even got to school? Fuck it, I was being stupid, I should've just looked for Stan and Kyle—

"Kenny?"

I jerked my chin up, eyes wide as I realized that Red was standing right in front of me. Her chocolate colored eyes were staring blankly at me like she'd asked me what two plus two was and I told her I didn't know the answer.

"Red." I straightened up, leaning away from the lockers.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was calm, too calm.

"I…I wanted to talk to you." Great, here I was, the normally smooth Kenny tripping over my words like an idiot.

"Class starts pretty soon." Red's eyes darted to the left, looking down the hall. Probably looking in the direction of her first class.

"I'll be quick, I just…did you tell people what happened? About us?" I hadn't wanted to bring that up so quickly, wanting the conversation to take a positive tone, but my spiteful nature shone through. I needed to know just what she had done.

"Was I supposed to keep it private?" Her voice was sweet, but I could detect the danger underneath.

"That's nobody's business." I growled, not liking the deceptive shine her eyes had taken.

"It's _my_ business, so I can tell who I want." Red reached up, smoothing the front of her sky blue shirt as she took a step backwards, away from me.

"That's not fair." While I wanted to reach up and shake her by her shoulders, I tried to reason with her instead, "People are going to talk shit about me now…all because of what you've been telling everyone!"

"Don't get mad at me because you're getting in trouble for playing your games." Red rolled her eyes, "If you were so concerned about your reputation, maybe you shouldn't have screwed me like that."

The conversation was not turning out the way I wanted. I stayed quiet, staring at the girl with gaping eyes, unable to identify to sweet, laughing girl I had been sleeping with for a few weeks with the cold witch in front of me.

"Are we done here? I need to get to class." She tilted her head to the side, eyes going cloudy with boredom.

"I…I'm…sorry." It took every ounce of my will power to force those words out of my mouth, "I've done some thinking, and I like you. I really do. I'd like to…I don't know, maybe try something with you? Like something real."

I was known for being cool, calm, and collected, but right then I sounded like a complete clown.

"That's…cute." She forced a smile, revealing straight, white teeth, "But I'm not really looking for a boyfriend right now. I mean, we had fun yeah, but…"

I didn't say anything.

She stood there, looking at me, waiting for a response.

I thought back to that weekend, after the party, when I told her that she only came onto me when she was drunk. When I told her she was just pretending to be hurt because she didn't want to look like a slut. When I realized that she was sleeping with me because it was 'socially acceptable'…because everyone knew I was a whore.

I had been right. The whole time, I was right.

"Kenny?" Once again, she was looking at me like I was stupid.

She was right. I'm so fucking dumb.

"Fuck you." I hissed quietly, not even looking up to meet her eyes.

I left before she had time to respond.

* * *

><p><em>(Cartman)<em>

_(I wanna use you and abuse you_

_I wanna know what's inside you)_

There was to be another party this weekend, this time at Clyde's house. Nobody really liked him very much—he was pathetically weak, a whiner—but everyone would seize upon the opportunity to drown themselves in alcohol. I couldn't help but think about all this as I walked home from the bus stop, my backpack slung over a single shoulder. Rumors of the party had begun circulating around lunch time, and of course they had reached our table quickly. Kenny was nowhere to be found, but Stan, Jimmy, and everyone else at the table—even Kyle—had all been enthusiastic about the party. Surprisingly enough, Kyle was immediately interested in the party, requiring no extra encouragement from any of us. That was unexpected, but—as I could easily see this situation working to my advantage—I saw no reason to question it too much. The last party had very nearly gone in my favor, and this weekend would simply provide another opportunity for me to capitalize on. I was very good at utilizing my resources, and—as my feet pounded against the cement of the sidewalk—I already began to formulate a plan, carefully considering what possibilities were available to me.

Tuesday had gone…rather strangely. Kyle and Stan back to their disgusting ways: laughing too loud at each other's jokes, maintaining eye contact far longer than necessary, Stan feeling the inexplicable need to place his hands on Kyle at every opportune moment…

At one point, I saw Kyle and Stan smiling at each other. I stared hard at Kyle, and when his eyes caught mine, his cheeks colored pink.

I didn't know what to make of all that. Passing by house after house, my own home not too far in the distance, I couldn't help but feel extremely disgruntled. I usually prided myself on being very knowledgeable on the happenings of our little town—especially when those happenings centered around certain individuals that I was looking to exploit. The fact that there was _something_ making Kyle blush, _something_ that I was unaware of, _something_ that concerned Stan Marsh…that was enough to make me grind my teeth. I turned to my left, heading up the driveway of my house. My mom's car was nowhere to be seen, which was probably a good thing for her sake. As much as I wished she was here to whip me up an afternoon meal, I was in a foul mood thanks to the 'super best friends' and was just looking for a fight. My mom was a doormat though, easy to pick on but not that entertaining in the long haul. I pushed open the front door, dropping my backpack to the floor as I headed for the stairs. I had already begun to unbutton my shirt as I climbed the stairs, my fingers working nimbly across the blue fabric. Stepping into the bathroom, I cast my shirt to the floor. Knocking the door shut with my hip, I kicked off my shoes before yanking my pants down. Reaching into the shower, I turned the knob as far as it would go.

After several minutes of waiting, the tiny bathroom quickly began to fill with steam. I pulled back the plastic curtain, stepping carefully onto the porcelain of the shower.

The hot water was soothing, felt amazing, but to my surprise, it did little to calm my frustrations.

I liked to be in control…I hated when I felt like this. Like there were a million things running through my mind, each idea fighting for dominance.

I could not swallow the excitement I felt when I thought of the coming weekend. I could get Kyle drunk again, so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing, so drunk that he'd welcome any of my advances. The thought of a drunk Kyle clawing at me, pushing his body against mine, pressing his lips into my ear and asking for _me_ was enough to send a shockwave down my spine. But then there was Stan…I needed to know what was happening between the two. As easy as it was to see Stan's lust for the redhead, I also knew that the jock was dumb as a rock, and not likely to act on his desires. He was too weak, too stupid to do anything about his lust. I closed my eyes, dipping my head down so that the water flowing from my brown hair across my face, dripping down from my chin. A picture of Stan, bloody nose, split lip, two black eyes, entered my brain, and I smiled at that, eyes still closed. The thought of making the football player bleed was pleasing to me, and it was a fantasy that I had, in the past few weeks, often revisited. That little punk had the nerve to think it was ok for him to touch Kyle whenever he wanted…foolish little shit. Didn't he realize what he was doing, the amount of danger he was putting himself in by daring to flaunt their little friendship in front of me like that? Really, he was just asking to get his face beat into the asphalt. Who would blame me if I were to knock his fucking teeth out? It was what he deserved, surely anyone would agree…

All that thought of beating Stan's face in was making my skin prickle. There was an ember burning in my flesh, and it roared into a fully fledged inferno as I closed my eyes, my thoughts shifting from Stan to Kyle.

Unbidden, an image of the Jew surfaced in my mind, one that always seemed to appear whenever I found myself…frustrated.

_The redhead, kneeling before me, hatred in his eyes, a bruise darkening his cheek. _

My eyes were still closed, but I raised my hand, sliding it between my legs.

_He would beg me, in desperation, for mercy. And I would laugh in his face, pure desire filling me as his eyes filled with tears._

My dick was already half hard when I grasped it, my hand slowly moving up and down, fingers tugging at the swollen flesh.

_He would protest when my fingers weaved into his red hair, tightening until he whimpered in pain. And then I would yank his head forward_.

I bit my lip as my hand moved faster, my cock painfully hard now. The water cascading over my body allowed my hands to move quicker, fingers sliding over the head of my dick with fervor.

_Kyle would moan as I shoved my cock into his mouth, gagging, his wet lips wrapped around me._

I pumped faster, harder, dick slipping in my fist with a wet smacking sound.

_I would begin to buck my hips, forcing my cock in and out of his throat, hand still gripping his hair. He'd fight of course, still crying, but he wouldn't be able to stop me._

I could feel my climax approaching, and I tilted my head back, the pleasure building between my legs and my hand continued moving up and down.

_His eyes would widen as I came in his throat, still thrusting in and out of his mouth. Kyle would try to pull away, but I would hold him steady, groaning in ecstasy as his tongue lapped at my dick._

I came hard, white liquid spilling onto the floor of my shower.

Eventually I calmed down, leaning against the cold wall of the shower. The water had gone from boiling hot to merely warm, I had been in the shower for so long. As satiated as I felt, I could not help but feel almost more frustrated then I had before I got in the shower. Turning the water off, I pulled back the curtain, reaching out and grabbing a clean towel. Rubbing the towel against my soaked body, I stepped out of the shower, with only one thought in my mind.

As much as I loved these fantasies of Kyle…it wasn't going to be long before they weren't enough.

And nobody, not even Kyle himself, would stop me from getting what I wanted.

I smiled at my own reflection before unlocking the bathroom door and heading for my room.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! I'd really like to know what you think!<strong>


	11. God's Gonna Cut You Down

_(Kenny)_

_(Maybe I should cry for help_

_Maybe I should kill myself)_

I didn't go to school for the entire rest of the week.

My parents didn't notice, of course. Not surprising…considering the only time they weren't drowning themselves in liquor was when they were snorting coke off the coffee table. Kyle came over twice—both times pounding on my bedroom door and demanding to see me. The first time I'd spoken with him briefly, but once he realized I had whiskey on my breath he got this look on his face…like I'd punched him in the gut. After that, when he came to see me a second time, I didn't even go to the door. I couldn't stand to see that look on his face, like it physically hurt him to see me like this. Even more painful was the fact that nobody _but_ Kyle seemed to even notice that I wasn't at school all week…that alone said a lot. Whatever, I didn't give a fuck about anyone at school anyway. They didn't give a shit about me, I didn't give a shit about them…worked out both ways, didn't it? The second time Kyle came, I think he knocked for a full fifteen minutes before finally giving up. It had taken a lot of willpower not to throw open the door and fall to my knees in front of Kyle, pouring my soul out to him… He had that effect on people, made them want to confess their sins and beg for forgiveness. In the end though, like always, I'd turned out to be weak on the inside: I let him leave without saying a word.

All day Friday my stomach had churned as I tried to decide if I wanted to go to the party or not.

On one hand, Red was sure to be there…and all her other little slut friends who would surely be whispering behind my back, shooting me hateful, disgusted looks the entire night.

But on the other hand…alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Tough decision, but in the end, booze had won out, and at about 9 pm I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. After maybe an hour of scrubbing the grease and grime off my body, I stepped out of my house in jeans and my orange hoodie, heading south towards Clyde's house. Thankfully it was close by and took maybe fifteen minutes of walking. It was early when I got there, but there were already girls wearing tight things tipping back red Solo cups. Nobody really noticed when I slipped in, the boys already honing in on the girls wearing the least and the girls honing in on the various bottles that lined the kitchen counter top. That worked for me…not that I was looking to score tonight. Shit, after everything that happened with Red…I doubted that a single girl would even be willing to talk with me. Sure enough, as soon as I entered the living room, where there was flashing lights and thunderous music, a trio of bottle-blondes shot me angry looks. They were standing in the far corner, dolled up with bright lipstick and heavy, coal-black eyeliner, all three with short black skirts, tiny tops, and heels that did this wonderful thing to their calf muscles. They look sexy as fuck…until their eyes narrowed, lips pursing in haughty, matching scowls that contorted their pretty faces into something ugly.

They looked at me like I was a dirty little bug, not even worth the effort it would take to squish with a shoe.

"Hey."

I turned around, away from their furious looks.

Wendy Testaburger was standing to my left, chewing on her bottom lip with her teeth.

"You know…I usually wouldn't do this," She frowned deeply, offering forward a cup, "But you _seriously_ look like you need a drink."

I stayed still for a moment, staring at her. She looked as good as ever, wearing some kind of pale pink dress that was very flattering on her creamy skin. Black hair cascaded across on her shoulders, and she reached up, tucking a lock behind her ear as she held out the red cup further, blue eyes staring up at me expectedly. The music booming around us was loud, and there were probably dozens of people squirming about in the room, all weaving their bodies in time with the heavy music; but Wendy was looking up at me like I was the only person she saw.

Fuck…I've really become a sucker for attention.

"What's in it?" I reached over, wrapping my fingers around the plastic.

"Does it matter?" She asked dryly, one corner of her lips curling up.

I couldn't help but smile at her.

"Do you want to talk?" Wendy folded her arms across her chest, raising her voice as the music suddenly switched to something faster, more energetic.

"Not really." I shook my head, shooting her a suspicious look, "Did Kyle put you up to this?"

"He…might've mentioned he was a little worried about you." She gave me a guilty grin.

Someone knocked into me from behind, and I stumbled forward, hurriedly reaching up to cover the top of the cup so that it didn't spill on Wendy. She caught me by the forearm, her hand easily steadying me even though I had several inches on her.

"Fucking jackass…" I growled, turning at glaring at the brown haired boy who had ran into me. He was heading to the middle of the living room where everyone was dancing, eyes glazed over, completely unaware that he'd even hit me.

"Kenny." Wendy's fingers were still wrapped around my forearm as she stared up at me, "I heard some of the girls talking—"

I wrenched my arm from her grasp, taking a step backward.

"Kenny…" Her face fell, hand dropping down to her side, "I just wanted to tell you…you shouldn't care what they think."

"Right." I rolled my eyes at that, looking down longingly at the cup in my hands.

"No, I'm serious." Wendy frowned again, "Don't let some stupid girl—"

"Kenny! Kenny!"

Both Wendy and I turned to the left at the sound of Cartman's voice. He was wearing a red shirt and jeans, and—maybe my eyes were tricking me—but it looked like he'd actually ran a comb through his hair and shaved his face. If this were anyone but Cartman…I might actually say that he looked nice. But the fact was that it _was_ Cartman, and all the previous injustices he had committed had effectively prevented me from ever even considering the possibility that he could appear somewhat attractive. He was shoving people around, pushing through them to get closer to us, his brown eyes glued to me. In one hand he had a bottle of whiskey, and in the other hand was two shot glasses.

Didn't take a genius to figure out what he had planned.

"Kenny it's about time you showed up!" Cartman reached out, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

"Hello Cartman." Wendy's lips tightened in a disapproving line, the flat tone of her voice proving just exactly how she felt about the fascist.

"The fuck do you want?" Cartman cocked an eyebrow up like he just realized that Wendy was standing there.

"I was talking to Kenny, you jerk!" Wendy's hands balled into fists, her bright blue nails shining in the light.

"Right, right." Cartman swung an arm around my shoulders, glaring at the girl, "Don't you have something better to do? Shouldn't you be with Bebe, begging one of the football players to let you show them that cool new trick you learned with your tongue?"

"Go to hell Cartman." Wendy spat, her words filled with venom.

"Whatever, get to stepping bitch, Kenny and I got business to take care of." Cartman held up the two shot glasses, making a shooing motion with his fingers.

Wendy's eyes flickered toward me, but once it became clear that I wasn't going to come to her defense, she turned on heel, stomping away. I stared at her as she left, feeling a sudden surge of self-loathing. She was nice to me, the first person to talk to me since Kyle…and then I just let Cartman verbally abuse her. And I wondered why nobody gave a shit about me… Wendy's hands were still clenched in angry fists as she disappeared into a nearby room, and I couldn't help but feel surprised that she didn't uppercut Cartman in the jaw. If there were two people in the world that would throw down with Eric Cartman, it was Kyle Broflovski and Wendy Testaburger.

Both people who were nice to me.

Whatever. They probably had a reason…if anyone was ever nice, it was because they had a fucking reason to be.

"Come on Ken, I got us something good." Cartman smiled at me, holding up the bottle of whiskey.

* * *

><p><em>(Cartman)<em>

_(What's done in the dark will be brought to the light)_

Oh Kenny…Kenny, Kenny, Kenny.

The poor boy was dumb as shit.

I had heard the whispered rumors all week, that poor little Red had gotten herself fucked over by a certain very good friend of mine. Normally I would be quite proud of such a diabolical, selfish move…but please. I've known Kenny for years, and I've always known that all the little blonde runt wanted was someone to _love_ him, someone to _care_ about him. That's how I knew those rumors were just that—rumors. Red was a little slut, the type of girl who showed up at these sorts of parties just to climb on top of some guy and get her rocks off. No doubt she had a greater hand in this then anyone realized, and, quite frankly, anyone who believed those foolish rumors was an idiot.

Which, apparently, was over half the school.

Needless to say, it had been quite easy to convince Kenny that Jameson's was a good idea.

Now, over two hours and an entire bottle later, the blonde was sitting in a stool next to me, head lolling back and forth, his words stringing together. His ice colored eyes were cloudy, unfocused, darting back and forth as if he couldn't absorb everything that was happening around him. At some point he had pulled off his hoodie, and now he was shirtless, faded jeans wrapped around bare hips. I'd done a good job playing the happy friend, and the poor boy hadn't even noticed that the entire time we had sat together I hadn't drank a single drop of alcohol. No, he was so self-absorbed, so focused on feeling sorry for himself that he paid no attention to me, choosing instead to drink straight from the bottle. As time passed, more and more people began to appear in the living room. The girls were swaying in time with the beat, the guys mesmerized by the tight, female assess bobbing in the air. I'd grinned at that…these sad, pathetic people were so fucking easy to read. All it took to get a guy's attention was a nice set of tits or a round ass in tight jeans…all they ever wanted was something to fuck. Just like how all girls ever wanted was someone to hold them, to tell them they were _better_ than all the other girls out there. And the thing is, once I've figured out what someone wants, it's very easy to use that against them. Very easy to use what _they_ wanted to get what _I_ wanted.

Once Kenny began talking about Kyle trying to visit him, once Kenny began to babble on about how he should've talked to Kyle, shouldn't have turned him away…well, it became quite obvious what _Kenny_ wanted.

And, as I noticed a certain redhead beginning to approach us, I had to physically suppress a smile.

Stan was not with him.

Oh, this was going to be too easy.

"Hey Kahl." My voice took on a purr, "Where have you been all this time?"

"I was with Stan and his football buddies." Kyle's words were liquid, pooling together.

That meant he had been drinking too. Perfect.

Kenny was already staring at him, his jaws clenched painfully, eyes hardening. Kyle turned and looked toward him, a small frown on his face. The Jew was wearing tight jeans and a flattering black shirt. It appeared that I was not the only one who noticed Kyle's appearance, as my blonde friend was scanning the Jew up and down, doing nothing to hide his staring.

"Are you ok Kenny?" Kyle cocked his head to the side, emerald eyes watching Kenny carefully.

"I'm good Kyle." Kenny flashed a charismatic smile, the type that only appeared when he was really drunk, "_Really_ good, actually."

"You look good tonight Kahl." I smirked, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Really good." Kenny repeated, once again smiling handsomely, flashing straight, white teeth.

If Kyle had been sober, he probably would have scowled at me, eyes filled with mistrust. He must've had a lot to drink, however, for he gave me and Ken a small, cautious grin, tilting his chin up in an arrogance he didn't normally show. The music was louder than ever now, the beat of the bass making the walls vibrate, making my very bones throb. Everyone was drunk as shit now, the bodies writhing in front of us so close together it was impossible to determine where one person ended and another began. I suppose something about music brings out a primeval side in people…I detested dancing. Couldn't lose myself in the rhythm like everyone else seemed to be able to. I didn't like losing control of myself anyway, didn't like becoming something so…feral. It was disgusting the way people gave into their base instincts, losing all thoughts of anything but rubbing against the body closest to them.

"Kahl…you should dance with Kenny." I shrugged, like what I said wasn't very important.

It was.

Kyle looked confused at the suggestion, like he'd never considered such a thing.

Kenny, however, seized upon the opportunity.

He reached out, fingers wrapping around Kyle's wrist, pulling him towards the throng of bodies. I heard the Jew say something in protest, but his words were easily drowned out by the music. Kenny pulled Kyle to the center of the group, standing close to the redhead before leaning over. His lips grew close to Kyle's ear as he whispered something, and even from where I was standing I could make out the pink blush that tinged Kyle's cheeks. He held up his hands palms out, shaking his head and saying something, but Kenny wouldn't take no for an answer. His pale eyes glittering mischievously, Kenny grabbed Kyle by the wrist again, pulling their bodies closer together.

The two pawns were in play…now all I had to do was wait for the third player to make his appearance.

To my delight, Kenny played his part better then I could've ever hoped.

The blonde's hips began to sway, and then he pulled the redhead against him, placing his hands on Kyle's hips. The Jew pushed him away at first, but then Kenny flashed that clever smile, and I could see Kyle's resolve begin to melt. The music changed to something with a steady beat, something sexy that made all the girls bump their waists back and forth. The boys were no exception, and Kyle began to move with the music. Even standing at the counter I could easily see the way he thrust his hips in time with the music, arms suddenly reaching into the air, Kenny suddenly standing with his arms wrapped around Kyle, his own hips moving perfectly with the redhead's. Any sort of modesty Kyle might have had disappeared quickly, and I couldn't help but smirk as I watched him drop low towards the floor, Kenny's willing body directly behind him and loving the friction. The Jew might've liked to pretend he didn't want to dance, but of course as soon as he was dragged onto the floor he became just as much of a whore as everyone else out there. When it really came down to it, he wanted to rub against someone just as much as everyone else did…he was no better than them.

And if he wanted someone to rub, well, I'd be happy to oblige.

Kenny's hands dipped down Kyle's sides, sliding down from his hips, onto his legs. His fingers were tugging at Kyle's jeans as they danced, moving inward, over his inner thighs. If Kyle noticed where Kenny's hands were going, he made no indication of it. In fact, he was smiling happily, eyes turning a brighter green than ever. Then Kenny was nuzzling against Kyle's neck, smiling against his skin, closing his eyes in pure…ecstasy.

There was a tapping on my shoulder.

I turned, pure exhilaration flooding my veins.

Stan stood in front of me. The jock was reaching up, running a hand through his jet black hair, ocean colored eyes staring at me. He was wearing his usual jeans and a jacket, nothing special to look at.

"Hey Cartman." He gave me a small, polite smile, "Have you seen Kyle?"

I smiled.

He stared at me for a few moments, the grin slipping from his face as my silence dragged on.

I raised a hand, pointing toward the dancing. His eyes followed, and as they fell on our two friends, he went very still.

Kenny was still nuzzling against Kyle's neck, lips moving across the skin that covered his throat. One of his hands was wrapped around Kyle's waist, pressing against his hip, while the other was still pulling at Kyle's inner thigh, fingers dancing lower and lower. The look on Stan's face was beautiful, something I could've stared at forever. Watching the surprise, then pain, then pure rage color his features…it was truly satisfying to watch. He grit his teeth, eyes turning a dark, enraged sapphire…for a brief moment, I saw something come alive that I had never seen before in Stan Marsh: violence, hatred, darkness. Something that could easily be described as…_monstrous._ Something that I would never have thought him capable of. A small part of me was proud, was cheering him on, was eager to see him explode in pure anger and give in to everything that was bad about himself… This was perfect. Everything was perfect. Stan and Kyle did not fight often, but there was no escaping it this time. I smiled to myself, excited to see where this went, excited to see Stan turn into something grotesque, a caricature of what Kyle thought he was… Would the redhead still accept his super best friend once he saw the rage he held?

I couldn't wait to see.

If all went well, Stan would do something stupid, do something violent and hateful…

If all went well, Stan would hurt Kyle.

And then…I would be there.

_Perfect_.

Stan's hands curled closed, and then he stomped forward, shoving past anybody who got in his way. He weaved in and out, through the drunken crowd. As soon as he reached them, Kyle's face lit up, as if he didn't realize the storm that was soon to come. He must've seen the destruction written on Stan's face, however, for he suddenly froze, clover eyes going very wide. At this point Kenny's hand was still wrapped around Kyle, and then the blonde was frowning, as if he was finally beginning to figure out that his fun was about to be ruined. Stan didn't say anything, he merely reached out, fingers wrapping around Kyle's wrist, angrily pulling him away from our blonde friend. It happened so fast that Kyle stumbled forward into Stan's chest, reaching up and gripping Stan's forearms to keep from falling. Kenny glared at the jock, eyes narrowing, lips curling into an angry scowl. For a moment—just a brief, brief moment—the two stared at each other. They were yin and yang, Stan tall, muscular, with dark hair…Kenny shorter, skinny, blonde scruffy hair sticking up in all directions.

They glared at each other, Stan tightening his hold on Kyle.

Kenny turned away first, dropping his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet Stan's hard gaze.

Conceding the victory.

Stan turned and walked away, pulling Kyle with him.

I couldn't help but stare as they headed toward the staircase. Disappointment settled like a stone in my gut; I had been hoping for a fight, had been hoping to see Stan show his true self. Instead Kenny pussed out… And now Stan was dragging Kyle up the staircase.

To a secluded room, perhaps? Maybe to fight in private, since surely Kyle wouldn't want to make a scene?

I didn't want to miss that.

I stood at the counter, staring up at that staircase, waiting. I wanted to see Kyle storm down the stairs, slamming a door behind him while a desperate Stan followed, begging for forgiveness. I wanted to see Kyle refuse to touch the jock, running away from him, running away from the party. And then I would follow him, would be there to comfort him…whether he liked it or not.

But I couldn't see any of that if I stayed where I was. I walked over to the stairs, placing my hand on the wooden banister. I froze for a moment, considering what I was about to do. After all the work I had put into tonight, all the careful planning, careful direction…I didn't want to see it go to waste. I wanted to be sure that my plan had worked, wanted to be sure that everything was going the way it was supposed to.

And perhaps…perhaps I needed to reassure myself.

There was a flicker of doubt circulating in my thoughts, and I had to destroy that.

I had to know what Stan and Kyle were doing. I had to.

I climbed the stairs slowly, placing one foot in front of the other as silently as possible. No one beneath noticed my careful ascent; the music was still vibrating the entire house, distracting everyone from my machinations. As I reached the top of the stairs, I headed toward the back of the hallway. Two rooms I passed by were empty, and I could hear girly whines and moans coming from the third, so that left only the fourth room at the very end of the hall. Walking quietly, I reached out, wrapping my hand around the metal doorknob. I turned it very slowly, waiting for resistance. There was none…they hadn't locked the door. Pushing gently, I cracked open the door, barely enough to peer into.

I froze, and then my nails were digging into the wood on the wall next to me.

Kyle was on his back on the bed. Stan was on top of him.

I clenched my teeth so hard that my jaws screamed in pain.

Stan's mouth was attached to Kyle's neck, his teeth digging into the skin. The redhead was squirming beneath the jock, hips raising into the air, his groin pressed up against Stan's. Stan had one hand sliding under Kyle's shirt, fingers dusting over bare skin. The redhead cried out suddenly as Stan's hand moved downward, gliding between Kyle's legs. Kyle bucked his hips in response, pushing up into Stan's touch. Then he reached up with his own hand, pulling apart Stan's belt as he turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against Stan's mouth. The football player groaned low as Kyle slid his hand past the waistband on his pants, pushing his hand against Stan's thick erection. Stan suddenly moved his lips away from Kyle's, gliding his mouth down to his stomach, tongue lashing out and lapping at Kyle's now shaking abdominal muscles. Then his mouth moved lower, and he was kissing the skin over Kyle's hip bone, his hands moving up and tugging at Kyle's belt…

I looked away as Stan pulled at Kyle's jeans, his mouth moving lower and lower as Kyle lifted his hips, allowing Stan to pull off his pants.

My cock was painfully hard…my mind unable to be rid of the image of Kyle's flushed face, moaning, writhing on the bed.

I backed away from the door, staring it down. The entire time, they had no idea that I had been watching. They'd been so engrossed in each other, so focused on each other's hands…mouths…cocks…

My chest felt compressed, like someone had stepped on it.

I had…miscalculated. Somehow, somewhere in my plan there had been a flaw…and now Stan was the one feeling up Kyle, probably getting his dick wet.

My hands were clenching so tight that my nails were digging crescent-shaped cuts into my palms.

Kyle…that little fucking slut. He was probably already bent over, letting the quarterback fuck him from behind, begging for more… Little fucking whore. I would've never thought Stan capable of any of this, but it seemed Kyle was more desperate for cock then I realized. I wonder how long he'd been sucking Stan off…how long had they been fucking around without my knowing?

White-hot fury boiled inside me as, unbidden, a picture of Kyle kneeling before Stan, eagerly lapping at his dick, entered my mind.

Fuck.

Was this what hurt felt like? Like my ribs were crushing in, piercing my lungs?

No. I was incapable of hurt, as I had discovered years ago.

All I felt now…was hatred.

Kyle wanted to be a worthless slut?

Fine. I would end this…and I knew exactly where to begin.

* * *

><p><strong>Well the semester's finally coming to an end...so now I can work on finishing this! Please review!<strong>


	12. Evil Deeds

_(Kyle)_

_(And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now)_

I was surprised when I blinked open my eyes, the ceiling fuzzy above me, to discover that Stan was already awake.

I had been lying on my back, and as soon as I realized that there was no warm body curled around mine, I turned onto my side, placing my palm on the mattress to steady myself. The world began to focus, the edges of Stan's computer desk turning sharp, as I blinked rapidly. My brain was processing slowly, and it took several seconds of staring before I realized that Stan was sitting in his computer chair, turned around and staring right back at me. Dark eyes watched me calmly, as if he were simply waiting for me to make a move. He was only wearing a pair of ratty old sweatpants, even though it was pretty cold in the house. Cold enough for me to shiver as the air hit my own naked torso. I reached down, gripping the comforter with my fingers, drawing it up to cover my stomach. Turning back towards Stan, I gazed at him suspiciously. He was still staring at me, though now his black hair was falling into his face, and I had a difficult time trying to discern just where exactly his eyes were pinpointed. My head was pounding a little, a steady thump on either side of my skull, just above my ears. Reaching up, I rubbed my eyes tiredly as I rolled back onto my back. Somehow, Stan's stare felt caustic, burning. This early and this hungover…I wasn't sure if I could deal with it.

"What time is it?" I grumbled, still keeping one hand over my eyes.

"Ten." His voice was curt, cutting. Turning in his chair, he went back to his computer, hand reaching for the mouse, obviously more interested in surfing the internet.

Ouch.

"Still mad at me?" I turned my head to the side, looking at him past my fingertips.

He paused, the steady clicking of his fingers against the keyboard instantly turning into silence. But he didn't turn to face me.

"Fine, keep being mad." I turned my head, going back to staring at the ceiling.

"I'm not mad." Stan whipped around, blue eyes narrowing, lips curling into a scowl.

"Right." My voice was sarcastic, but I gave him a lopsided, easy grin.

"Ok," Stan stood up, pushing the chair out behind him, "I'm not mad at _you_."

"Well who are you mad at then?" I propped myself up on my elbows, raising an eyebrow as he began to approach the bed.

"Isn't it obvious?" This time it was his voice dripping in sarcasm as he folded his thick arms across his chest. I really hated it when he did that…seeing his biceps bulge made my brain want to forget all about the party, all about the fight and just pull Stan on top of me. Actually, that really didn't seem like a bad idea…I bet I could make him forget all about being mad at me. But no, isn't that what happened last night? We started talking things out…damn, he was so angry. And for some reason seeing him ready to fight had gotten me feeling…well, risky. I had shoved him in his chest, and he had refused to shove me back, his hands clenching into fists. Sometime after that, I finally got him mad enough to tackle me to the bed, which was exactly what I had been aiming for. Just as I suspected, once we were rolling back and forth on the bed…we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Even if he was being a big jerk who was getting worked up over nothing.

But that was the problem…last night we hadn't solved anything. So maybe this time it was a good idea to actually sort things out before they went any further.

"How could you be mad at him and not at me?" I frowned, unable to see Stan's logic.

"I…I just…" He sputtered, grasping for words. He went quiet then, staring at the ground, and all of a sudden I realized that he _did_ have a reason, but he wasn't going to tell me.

"He should've known better." Stan growled, raising his eyes back up to reach mine. I knew there was more to it than that…there had to be.

"It wasn't anything Stan." I shook my head, dropping back onto the pillow with a soft thud.

"Yeah, I know." He sighed suddenly, dropping his arms from his chest so that they could dangle at his side, "Still pisses me off though."

"I thought you weren't mad." Smirking at him knowingly, I rolled back onto my side to face him.

"Shut up." Stan rolled his eyes, but his mouth cracked into a small smile, proving that I had won him over.

"When do your parents come home?" I asked. His parents had left Friday afternoon to go visit Shelley in college for the weekend, departing only a few hours before he and I had left for the party.

"Not till Sunday." Stan answered, at that point unable to hide his widening grin.

"Good." My voice was quiet as I reached out, fingers wrapping around Stan's wrist. I pulled him forward and he came easily, crawling onto the bed as soon as his knees hit the mattress. I smiled up at him, and suddenly he was above me, hands planted on either side of my shoulders, eyes darkening as he glared down at me. Fingertips were then gripping my jaw, tilting my head back. I closed my eyes before his lips met mine, sighing into the remarkably gentle kiss. For someone who was so large, bulky, clumsy even…he was impressing me with how delicately he could move his mouth. Almost like he thought he could break me if he pushed too hard. Stan never was one to hold back though, and after only a minute or so he was pressing into the kiss, his teeth biting at my lower lip. One of his hands ghosted over my bare stomach, then traveling lower until he was tugging on the waistband of my boxers.

I turned away from him, forcing myself to pull my mouth away from his own, my lips coming into close contact with his ear.

"No." I said quietly.

He immediately froze, entire body going stiff. Pulling up, he frowned deeply in confusion, worry etched into his face.

"If you don't want to…" He let his words trail off, shaking his head.

Even so, I could feel the hardness between his legs pushing against my thigh.

"I owe you. For last night." I shrugged, as if what I said was easy. As if my heart wasn't suddenly racing toward a crescendo at thought of what I was offering.

He stared down at me.

Up until now, everything we had done…everything had been him acting, and me allowing it to happen.

"Are you…sure?" He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, "I don't want you to feel like you…have to or something."

As nervous as I was—shit, I'd never done this before—I actually wanted to. _Really_ wanted to. Which was strange, actually, as I had never wanted to do that to any other guy…why all of a sudden did that change?

"I want to." I swallowed those words as I spoke, trying to come off as confident as possible.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling, "Ok."

I reached up then, pushing on his chest until we rolled over so that I was straddling Stan. His hands were on my hips still, steadying me as I leaned forward, latching my lips onto his throat. When he groaned in response, I suddenly felt very wicked…in the best way possible. Suddenly it came to my realization that I really _liked_ making Stan make those sounds. Trailing my mouth down his chest, I came to the point where my tongue was sliding against his lower ab muscles, just above the waistline of his sweatpants. Letting go of my waist for only a moment, he tugged the pants off, casting them to the side and onto the floor. Now that he was naked, I could see that he was rock-hard, lifting his hips every few moments to press his cock upwards against me.

Sliding downward, I leaned forward once again, reaching up with my hand to grip his dick. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as I began to pump him up and down, my fingers gliding smoothly along his length. I rubbed my thumb over his thick head, and he jerked slightly at that, thrusting upward in time with my hand. Feeling mischievous, I leaned forward, my lips parting. My hand still tugging at his cock, I ran my tongue slowly over the underside of him, feeling a smug sort of satisfaction as he growled in response. Moving my mouth upward, I suddenly wrapped my lips around the tip, sucking lightly as I slipped my tongue up and down. That must've been too much for him to handle, for suddenly I felt his fingers weaving into my fiery hair, pressing me forward. I opened my mouth, bobbing my head as I sucked, allowing him to push me down. Right as I felt I couldn't possibly take any more of his cock in my throat, he pulled back, the tug on my hair just the right mixture of pain and pleasure to make me want to do it again.

Stan thrust his hips upward as he pushed my head down again, his cock sliding down into my throat. I did as much as I could, pressing my tongue against him, sucking hard as he quickly began to move faster. Grunting in effort, the grip he had on my hair tightened, and I had to brace my hands on his thighs to keep up with his pace. My lips sliding up and down his entire cock, I sucked in, hollowing out my cheeks as the tip of him hit the back of my throat. He looked down at me then, face flushed, eyes such a dark shade of blue they almost looked black. I looked right back at him, my own eyes half-lidded over as he pulled out then shoved his dick right back into my mouth. He must've liked what he saw, for his body tightened, and there was a surge of warmth in my mouth as he came. I didn't really know what to do at that point…so I just continued bobbing my head, reaching up to pump him with my hand as my tongue lapped at the head of his cock. I swallowed what I could, allowing the excess to spill onto the bed, sucking hard on Stan until he was finally spent. He was breathing deeply as he released his hold on my hair, chest heaving up and down, causing the muscles lining his torso to flex and relax with each breath he took in.

I leaned back so that I was kneeling, looking down at him.

"You look really proud of yourself." Stan said, reaching up to run his hand through his own black hair.

"Yeah. I am." I crossed my arms against my chest, smirking down at him, "I think I did pretty good."

"More like pretty fucking awesome." Stan grinned back at me, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the pillow.

"Good." I repeated what I said earlier. He was right, I was actually feeling pretty good about myself. The look on his face when he came…I _knew_ that nobody had ever made him feel like that before.

"You know…if all our fights end like this, I think I'd actually be ok with it." Stan didn't bother to open his eyes as he spoke.

"Dude, we never fight." I rolled my eyes, "You were just being a dumbass."

"Whatever." He squirmed onto his side, burying his head into the pillow.

"Are you going back to sleep?" I arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah…you going to join me?" One of his eyes peaked open, looking up at me expectantly.

"Maybe." I shrugged, smiling down at him.

"Oh come on…you know you want to." Stan replied arrogantly, reaching up to wrap his fingers around my wrist. He pulled lightly, and I conceded, crawling downward to curl up next to him.

Of course I wanted to. When had I ever been able to say no to Stan?

* * *

><p><em>(Cartman)<em>

_(Evil deeds, while I plant these evil seeds_

_Please release me from these demons)_

If there was one place I did not expect to find myself the morning after a party, it was at the South Park gym.

Built about two or three years ago, it was a large square structure, boasting—from what I'd heard—quite the collection of machines. Free weights, cardio machines, an aerobics room…from what I had heard from the mutterings of the meatheads at school, the gym was well worth the costly thirty-five dollar per month membership. Well, that was costly to us, anyway. I knew that Stan and the rest of the football players all lifted there, due to the fact that South Park High was an old rotting beast with workout facilities dating back to before our parents had been born. And certainly that was not good enough for our _star_ players, certainly not for the state champion football team. Who could expect a star quarterback to workout with anything but the best lifting equipment available? It was only right that the school spent a fortune paying for the entire football team to have access to the South Park City Gym, right?

Wrong. What a fucking waste of time and money.

I'd never really understood lifting weights. What the fuck was the point of picking something up repeatedly only to set it right back down? To get big? To get buff? And what was the point of all that? To attract girls? To deter would-be bullies?

It was a shallow, vain person who lifted weights to look large. Because really, who actually lifts weights to get strong? Take away the gaining of muscle, the subtle changes in the contour of the body that occurs as someone lifts more and more…would that person still lift? Would lifting be such a popular past time if it did not, as it made one stronger, also make ones shoulder's broader and biceps thicker?

Fuck the entire football team, and fuck their pathetic desires to look good. And fuck their damn championship. Five years after we graduated nobody would give two shits about how much they could bench or how many passing yards they had.

Approaching the glass door, I pressed my hand on it and walked in. if my assumptions were correct, and the entire football team had a workout schedule as rigid as Stan's was, then it was logical to conclude that my target would most likely be straining himself somewhere within the building. The receptionist was a perky little blonde with a tiny waist and a smile that was far too wide for my liking; she looked similar to chimpanzee baring its teeth at a rival. I smiled back however, giving her the innocent, somewhat shy half-grin that tended to disarm most. As I expected, once I explained I was thinking of getting a membership, but really just wanted to try it out for a day, see how I liked it, the vapid little primate tittered annoyingly and replied that I could surely get one free day pass, just for today! I gave her the full smile then, repeating over and over my thanks before stepping past her, heading straight to where I expected the machines to be. To fit the part, I had pulled on a white shirt with the sleeves cut off and paired it with sneakers and some gym shorts that I had chosen specifically because they bore the South Park High logo on one corner.

To my delight, as soon as I walked into the weights room, I spotted the only reason I was wasting my time inside this building full of sweating, grunting morons.

He was on the ground near the far side of the room, in a space left open apparently for calisthenics. Facing away from me, his body was completely straight, the muscles in his arms and back straining as he performed what appeared to be textbook-perfect pushups. Inhaling silently as he lowered his body in a rigidly straight line, he exhaled from his mouth loudly as he pushed back up. I began to walk slowly towards him, completely ignoring the five or six others nearby, my eyes zeroed in on him and him alone. That was good enough, for the others took no notice of me either, so focused they were in punishing their bodies that they clearly were completely uninterested in me.

Good. Hopefully that would mean that they wouldn't even remember my presence, once my job was done.

My target finally ceased his exercise as I drew nearer, pushing up with his hands and standing on his own two feet. His blonde hair stuck to his forehead as he reached up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and it was then that he turned and finally saw that I was walking towards _him_ and not towards any exercise machine. Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at me openly. Perhaps he wasn't as stupid as the rest of his jock brethren…

"Hey…you're Allen, right?" I tilted my head to the side, feigning curiosity as I came to a halt in front of him.

Like all gyms, this one had mirrors lining the far wall. I could make out my own reflection, and the back of the blonde's body. We were a strange pair, both large, but in very different ways. The blonde was clearly almost pure muscle, with the stony body that the position of safety would require, but the obvious shape of someone who was as hard as a rock. I looked softer next to him, even though I was clearly the larger, at least several inches taller and a good twenty or thirty pounds heavier. With my mussed brown hair and bulging arms exposed, I was sure to look the part of an avid gym rat, a contemporary to the blonde in front of me. But still, he obviously did not regard me a friend or ally…the hard look in his eyes proved he was reserving judgment. He did not recognize me at all, even though we had gone to the same high school for almost four years. Everyone else was continuing with their workouts, still paying no attention to either me or the football player.

"Yeah." The jock grunted, his eyes narrowing even farther. Oh, he was a suspicious one...yes, he almost certainly was of a different cut then the rest of his teammates. I could only hope that this would work in my favor…if he was the type that I believed him to be, the type that the rumors spoke of…then he was perfect. Exactly what I needed.

"You're on the football team, right?" I asked, keeping up my curious façade.

"Yes." He nodded, suspicion turning to confusion. Now he would be wondering why I was bothering him.

"With Stan Marsh, right?" This was the final question, and to my disgust, as soon as the quarterback's name left my lips, the blonde physically relaxed.

"You know Stan?" Allen dropped his arms from where they had been crossed against his chest, his eyes softening a bit.

"Yeah, actually he's one of my best friends." The lie slipped past my lips easily. But was it a lie? I don't think either Stan or I truly knew the answer to that question…but I certainly knew enough about him to fake it.

"Oh, ok." Allen shrugged, beginning to lose interest, "I'm kind of surprised he's not here…Saturday mornings usually he's _always_ here."

"Oh, well, you know where he is…" I rolled my eyes, voice trailing off as if it were very obvious what I was hinting at.

Allen, like any good little jock puppet, took the bait.

"What do you mean?" He spoke quickly, a new spark of interest flashing in his eyes.

"You know…" I dropped my voice low, raising my eyebrows knowingly, "With Kyle."

"Kyle?" Allen asked, glancing around as I had, making sure that nobody else was close enough to overhear, "You mean that redhead he's always with?"

Funny, I had been to dozens of parties with this boy, had been going to school with him for years…but it was _Kyle_ the he recognized, _Kyle_ that he remembered. It seemed the little Jew had an effect on others aside from Stan and myself.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's with him." This time I shrugged, as if what I was saying was common knowledge, "You know how _they_ are."

This time it was Allen who got a sly look in his blue eyes, mouth curling into a smirk as he looked at me.

"People talk about them…that redhead gets a lot of attention wherever he goes." Allen nodded, leaning in close as if we were sharing a dear secret, "And Stan practically bites the head off of anyone who looks at him."

There was a sullen note in his voice that spoke of past wrongs. Yes…the rumors were true. Completely true.

"Stan doesn't like to share." I shook my head, scowling as if this were an injustice to everyone.

"So it's true then?" Allen's lips parted into an even wider smirk, "Stan is sticking it to the redhead?"

I smiled back at him, "Actually Allen, there's a lot more to it than that…"


End file.
